Stale M&M's Carl x OMC
by thewalkerinme
Summary: "It's dumb, I know... Just a childish attraction. I try not to think about it, which I've been doing pretty well until lately. But it's moments like just then, when he uses that rare charm of his or leans against the wall with that half smile, when such a task becomes increasingly difficult." Sexual references between male minors, cussing, gore and mild sexual violence throughout.
1. Chapter 1 The Separation

**Oliver's POV**

"Dude, they're stale," Patrick grimaces at the packet of M&M's in his hand.

I scoff and snatch them from his grasp, frowning in jest at him. "So? There's nothing better around here," I defend myself as I split open the packet and stuff a handful of the colourful candy into my mouth. He's right, they are stale. But I'm too hungry to care. I've missed the feeling of chewing candy, when the gooey sweetness gets stuck in your teeth and you have to make a funny face to try and get it out. Trust me, it was an extremely underrated experience before all of this happened.

He slings an arm over my shoulder and uses his other hand to noogie me.

"Get off, Pat!" I bark, struggling against him.

He lets go, laughing to himself.

I glare at him and shake my head in an attempt to fix my hair, but to no avail. A good shower would fix it, but we haven't been lucky enough for running water in weeks. I mean, we try to stay clean; creeks and ponds, places like that. But it's never going to match to a good shower.

It's been ten months since the apocalypse started, as it is about May time now. Patrick and I have been on the road pretty much the whole time. Of course, we'd find a camp every few months and stay with them for a bit. But we would always either end up leaving by choice or… well, not by choice. Most of the time the place would get overrun, or bad people would get in. It's been tough, and we've only managed to survive because we're smart about it, and quiet… very quiet. You kind of have to be now.

I empty the last half of the small candy wrapper contents into Patrick's open palm and despite his earlier reluctance he eats every last bite. I roll my eyes and continue to fill up my backpack with the stores goods from the selves.

The place has been looted already, but only lightly so there're still quite a few things we can grab. Granted, it's mostly just candy in here. But I'm not complaining. It's definitely better than the crappy graham crackers we've been living off of for so long.

"Come on, let's head out. I don't think you'll get any more food in there," Patrick says, pushing his thick black glasses up his nose a little and cocking an eyebrow at our bountiful stash that is almost overflowing my backpack now.

I nod in agreement and we begin to head for the exit.

"Oh. Did you find some more inhalers?" my brother asks.

"Yeah, there were a few left in the pharmacy," I answer, motioning over the stores medical section.

"Good."

I had an asthma attack a few days ago. It was so bad that I ended up passing out from the lack of oxygen. But Patrick knew that if he put me in the recovery poison and let me sleep that my airways would open up again. It worked, (obviously) and I ended up just waking up a few hours later. But he said 'it was too close that time', and I agree. My asthma is stress induced mostly, making it basically the worst condition to suffer from in the middle of the apocalypse. But we get by, and at the moment I'm fine... for now.

We make our way to the stores' front doors.

"Wait," Patrick suddenly stops in his tracks and holds and arm out in front of me. I was looking in my backpack so I almost walk into his outstretched extremity, but I catch myself and hold my breath to silence it.

A surge of adrenaline courses through me as I hear what has caught his attention...

Biters.

"Oh... shit," I utter.

Patrick spins around and scowls at me, silently scolding me for cussing. I narrow my eyes at him. Even after almost a year of the outbreak he's still insistent on good language. Mom was always very strict in the way we spoke, and after she died Patrick has made it his mission to keep her wish of proper articulacy. I can't see why though.

I roll my eyes at him and pull him further back into the store. "Come on. We'll find a back door," I whisper without much urgency because the biters are still stuck outside at the moment so we can easily escape without them even knowing we are in here.

But just as we begin to go, we freeze in our tracks and our hearts stop at the sound of cracking glass. We spin around and stare in the direction of the sound...

"No, no, no please?!" Patrick mutters.

Suddenly, the shop doors shatter… Loudly! The smash is almost bone shuddering! Why do they want to get in here?! They can't have seen or heard us come in! We were careful! Weren't we?! But I realise there is no time to wonder about that now though because I can hear the dead barging into the store, following the smell of our living flesh that must advertise Heaven to them.

"Patrick, go! Go!" I bark at him, snapping him out of his shock as I grab at his arm shove him to follow me to the back of the store, hearing the biters ambling through and growling for the voices that they can no doubt hear by now.

"There's no back door!" Patrick hisses, swivelling round to face the biters as they pour round the isle towards us, reaching their rotting arms out as they hiss and snap their teeth in anticipation.

I search frantically for somewhere to escape…

"Supply cupboard!"

Patrick turns on his heel and pulls me into it, closing the door behind us with a loud _'SLAM!'_ So much for being quiet. Almost instantly, the biters begin to bang and growl against the door, and my body trembles with fear. We both shove our backs against it to keep it closed as the latch is too small to work alone.

We stay silent, hoping that eventually they will lose interest. But they don't relent, and after mere minutes we hear the door hinges begin to crack with the weight against them.

Panicking, I search around with my eyes, my feet slipping against the smooth floor as the door shakes and begins to give to the pressure. I see the window in front of us. It's pretty small, but it'll have to do.

"Patrick, go," I pant, pointing up to it. Only to have to slam my arm back against the door to help keep it closed.

"No, you go first - I got you." he hisses at me, gripping his knife in his hand and grunting as he struggles.

I shake my head. "No, I'm faster. As soon as we both move from this door it's gonna give. You go and I'll follow," I instruct him, taking out my machete from my belt. "I can hold them off for a second while you get out."

I watch the panic bleed across his expression, but I can tell that he knows I'm right. Patrick won't be able to dash for the window as quickly as I will, and I think I'm just strong enough to keep the door closed for a moment as he climbs out.

Finally, fighting the storm of conflict in his mind, Patrick nods. "R-ready?"

I nod and push harder against the door. "Go."

He leaps forward and climbs the desk under the window and then begins to work the latch to open it. "Quickly!" I urge, grunting as the door begins to open a little and the rotting fingers reach in.

"It's stuck!" he growls, pushing his whole weight against the small window.

My feet begin to slip, so I shove myself as hard as I can against the door again, causing it to shut closed. I grimace as the outstretched, decaying fingers snap off with a crunch and fall to the floor at my sneakers.

"Gugh! Got it!" Patrick grunts, jolting forward as the window finally pops open.

"Go!" I bark, contorting my face as I force myself to push harder and harder.

Patrick does as I say and hastily climbs through the window. "Come on! There's more out here!" he shouts staring wide eyed at me from outside and holding his hand out.

I count to three and launch myself from the door, hearing the hisses and growls from the biters as they pour inside after me. But I don't dare look back. I leap up onto the desk and propel myself at the window, grabbing Patrick's hand and he pulls me. I kick my legs out behind me and pull with all I have. I'm almost out!

But one of them grabs my ankle. "Agh! It's got me!" I grunt as panic begins to envelope my mind. I pull with everything in me and desperately try to kick the thing away. But it's too strong and I am mercilessly dragged back in by the rotten fingers that have locked around my ankle.

"NO!" Patrick bellows, losing purchase on my hand.

But then I let go… knowing that if I stay half in and half out of the window like this for any longer I'm going to get bitten!

I fall back into the supply cupboard, accidentally dropping my machete outside at Patrick's feet. The things growl and grab for me. But adrenaline pumped and fear driven, I manage to stand up on the desk and kick with all of my strength to get them away, some stumble backwards and fall over themselves. But one manages to grab my ankle mid kick and shoves me towards its face.

I fall backwards into the desk surface, causing the whole thing to topple from under me, sending me crashing onto the floor behind it. But as the desk falls, it causes the biters to fall backwards, too.

"My machete!" I yell to Patrick, feeling a spark of hope as I see the distance between me and the dead. Bringing myself to my feet and grabbing the table, I shove it into the biters, creating a larger barrier between us. But unfortunately not a very stable one. I count that there is around seven in here. I might be able to take them if I can find a weapon.

"Oliver, here!"

I turn and see my machete fall from the window, landing with a clatter to the shiny floor behind me. I quickly grab it and begin taking out the biters, who have already gotten to their feet and are coming back for me, craving to feed their never ending and never satisfied hunger.

I drive my machete through a biters skull, and then another, and I can hear Patrick outside grunting and huffing as he begins to fight off the biters that are surrounding him.

"Pat! Go!" I bellow, slicing another biter's head off.

"No! I'm not leaving you!" he growls.

"I can get out! I'll come help you, just hold on!" I shout as he struggles. I spot a plastic crate on the floor and grab it, quickly emptying the mouldy, aged bread and fruit from on it. I shove it against the biters and push them away from the door, creating enough space for me to get through.

I dart out, but crash to my knees as I trip over a biter that has been trampled to death. I gasp, swivelling around to take one last glance at the window. I see Patrick on the outside. He stabs another biter through the eye socket and turns to look for me.

His expression floods with horror and his eyes widen more than they were already.

"Oliver! Behind you!"

I hear the growl... and then I feel the colt, rotten hands as the biter behind me grabs my shoulders, forcing me to the floor again and pulling me to its face.

"Gahh!" I yelp, pushing against it as it thrashes and spits blood in my face. I roll over onto my front, causing the biter to topple over on top of me, barely missing it's rotten teeth as they snap for my flesh. I kick it in the head and it stumbles backwards, rotting flesh hanging off of it's cheek. The wet squelch forcing my lips into a grimace. I look for where I dropped my machete, stumbling forward to grab it by the red handle, raising it above my head. Then, as hard as I can, I drive it down into the biter's face, slicing through the thing's skull. Dead. But no time to celebrate, the other biters are coming after me now as well! I bring myself to my feet and sprint as fast as my shaking legs will carry me to the exit of the store.

I leap through the gaping hole in the -once- glass doors, beginning to feel my breath shorten and become laboured as my wind pipe swells from exhaustion. I still have the backpack on with the inhalers in it. But my lungs will just have to wait. I need to find him.

I stumble out into the street. It was deserted when we got here! But now there are biters all over the place! What the hell?! So I run around the store, dodging the dead arms that reach and lunge for me. Breathless and panicking, I turn into the car park that the window was looking out onto, and stop dead in my tracks.

It's filled with them!

"PATRICK!" I bellow, not caring if I attract every biter in Georgia. "PATRICK!" I scream for him, again and again until my lungs wont allow it anymore, coughing until I see stars and barely keeping myself standing. I need to take my inhaler, soon, or it won't just be the biters that kill me.

But there are too many around to have enough time to take my meds. So I amble past the car park, aiming for the thick expanse of forestry behind it. I run… and run… and run, farther and farther into the forest and gasping for the air that I can't have, feeling my temples throb painfully as sweat pours down my face.

After a few minutes, it becomes too much and my legs give out beneath me, sending me plummeting into the forest floor, scraping my knees and hands on the rough and gritty ground and smearing mud all over my clothing and body. A fit of coughs erupt from my struggling lungs and I force myself to sit up, pulling my backpack off of my shoulders and hurrying to search for the small cardboard box that will have my release inside of it. I find the medication and rip the plastic, blue, Ventolin inhaler out of the box, pulling off the cap and spraying the bitter chemicals into my throat.

I suck in as much of it as my closing wind pipe will allow, then give myself another spray and collapse onto the ground, letting my face fall to the dirt as my throat opens up and I can breathe again. I pant into the soil, the relief is tremendous. But the exhaustion and panic is unbearable!

I can hear them still following me. So I bring myself to my feet, breathing heavily but enough to keep going. I have to keep going. I have to find my brother.

**Five Months Later…**

I never found Patrick…

Once I lost the biters I went back and searched for him for weeks. I left notes. I wrote signs on garage doors and shop windows. But nothing… He's just gone.

I've been alone all of this time. All alone. Avoiding any people I see. Steering clear of any potentially dangerous situations. Living in the shadows pretty much… I found a beanie hat, it's dark grey and I like it. I found a dog too. She was nice... but I had to kill her because she tried to attack me. So, I guess she wasn't so nice after all. I was going to eat her after… but I couldn't bring myself to. It's funny that, I can kill countless biters every day but I can't bring myself to eat a stupid dog.  
><em>But is that a good thing or a bad thing? <em>**Well... I guess it's a good thing, as long as you ****_are still actually eating... _**_Uh huh, I'm definitely eating okay. _**_Yeah, especially since you raided that farmhouse a few days ago. _**_I hit the jackpot there. Fully stocked up now, so that's good… I guess._

Oh yeah. Another thing, I talk to myself. A lot… I don't think I do it out loud… well, not that much. I just like to have conversations with myself. I don't know how long I have been doing it either. It kind of just happened. Unsurprising I guess, especially after being on my own for almost half a year. One day you just can't decide what flavour soup you want when you're looting a corner store and you decide to just, ask yourself… Well, that's how it started with me anyway. I think… Well, that was the first time I became aware that I talked to myself at least.

I open my eyes and sigh. I have been awake for a while now. I just didn't want to get up. I never seem to want to wake up anymore. I'm not suicidal or anything though. No, I still want to live. I just can't seem to be bothered to. **That makes total sense Oliver...**

I rub the sleep from my eyes and stretch, letting out a wheezy yawn that turns itself into a weak cough. **Take you're inhaler Oliver. **_Where did I put it? _**Check under the bed?**

I lean down and search under the bed, letting out a wheezy cough as I reach my hand around on the carpet. "It's not there," I say in annoyance, sitting up again. I look over the bed and spot it almost instantly, right at the edge and poking out from under the moth bitten sheets. "Oh, well that was a stupid place to leave it," I mumble as I reach over and grab it, bringing it to my lips and taking a deep breath as I spray a load into my mouth. _That's better._

I put the blue inhaler in my supply bag and go to the bathroom. Of course, it not actually the bathroom, it's just the bedroom window. Why not? There's no one around who is alive. _**Actually, there are no biters out this morning either. **Nice change._

I smile to myself as I watch the thin stream of my pee fall two stories below to the front yard. _**That's so gross. **_**You have to admit, it's pretty funny. **_**Mmm, maybe a little...**_

When I finish, I change and throw on the -somewhat- clean clothes I took from the drawer in the other bedroom. It was just a long sleeve top, a green shirt and some denim jeans. I'll keep my sneakers though, and my pointless beanie hat. _**Why? Oliver, they smell almost as bad as the damn biters!**_

"I like them!" I defend myself out loud as I pull my beanie over my head. "And, the hat actually doesn't smell that bad," I argue quietly. **Even so, you should get rid of it. **_No!_

I collect my supply bag and wedge my machete between my leather belt and jeans. _All set. **Where are you going today? **I don't know, I'll have to just see. **Like always, right? **Yes, exactly. **Well, do you have any idea? Anything in particular that you're looking for? **I guess I could go for some candy. Maybe…_

I leave the suburb house. It's a quiet area in a town I don't know the name of. The place is pretty clean compared to some of the places I've come across before. Just an average suburb really. Minus the thin layer of dirt that seems to cover just about everything, and the few biters lurking around in one or two places.

But I am quiet and quick, so I leave the area without so much as a growl directed at me. My stealth has gotten a lot better over the months, especially since the store… and especially since I have been on my own… _**Don't think about that Oliver. **_I shake my head and push the memories out of my mind.

I walk for a few miles, making my way in the general direction I remember seeing some store-looking places. I find them, it's pretty much a small mall with a big empty car park outside, debris and trash scattered around the place, a dull atmosphere for a dull day. Even so, I smile when I see the candy store, sticking out like a sore thumb from the colourful logo above the door.

I make my way over to it. Though, I'm not an idiot. I'm not going to barge right in there. Once I conclude that there are no biters around and no signs of anyone possibly living, I wrap my fist against the shop windows and wait.

After a few minutes the world stays silent, silent and dead, so I try the door and find that it has already been kicked in. _**There better still be some candy in there! **_"Hmm," I agree quietly with myself as I make my way inside with my machete drawn. My nose is met with the smell of stale candy, sweet, but with an obvious bitter, dryness behind it. If that makes sense. That smell, plus the distinct and constant smell of rotting corpses as well. But I've gotten used to that smell after so long, and as a result, I'm still almost drooling at the thought of getting my hands on some candy.

I scope the isles, the store is surprisingly big from what it looked like outside. _**Just get some candy and go. You don't know that there isn't still something in here… **Yeah, or someone…_

I silently search for a decent looking isle. The place is pretty bare. It's been looted already. But not all of it. I find one shelf that is pretty stocked and stuff as much of the chocolate and candy as I can into my supply bag._ **Not exactly the most nutritious diet, Oliver. **So? There's worse things to worry about. **If you end up getting tooth decay, don't say you didn't warn yourself before hand.**_

"Hey, I brush," I defend myself as I scope the rest of the isle, and something catches my eye…

M&M's.

_Gosh, the last time I had some of those was… **I know.**_

A lump forms in my throat as I pick up a packet, feeling the small bumps of the candy in the crackling wrapper. I try not to think about Patrick. I really try. But I just can't help it sometimes. He was the last living member of my family and I have no idea what happened to him. _I'm never going to know if he really is dead or if he escaped. **Of course he didn't. You saw how many biters there were in that car park. He was ripped apart, just like everyone else, and you know it… Oliver… Patrick died a long time ago.**_

I fight back a hiccup and shake my head, "I think I'm done here... Should probably get going," I mutter, pulling open the candy wrapper and throwing a few M&M's into my mouth as I make my way back to the exit, taking a different route this time though.

I spot a dead biter splayed across the floor, cut clean in half through the torso. Other than the fact that it has been totally severed into two pieces, it's not looking particularly interesting, so I begin to look away. But suddenly, I double take as I realise that the blood is still wet. I look closer see that the biter is still bleeding, too. _This happened within the last few minutes! _My face drops._ **I think you should leave now, Oliver… Right now!**_

"Yeah," I nod to myself and quickly turn towards the exit, but I stop dead in my tracks as I almost walk into the end of a cross bow. _Fuck! _Staring wide eyed at the thin black bolt aimed right between my eyes, I startle and stumble away from it, landing on my ass and dropping my M&M's to the floor. The candy scatters and rolls at the crossbow holder's boots and I desperately reach for my machete.

"Don't," he hisses.

I freeze and stare at him, pure terror causing my whole body to shake as I lower my hands again. _**This is it Oliver... You're about to die.**_ I gulp and my breathing quickens as the dirt-covered stranger and I have a tense staring contest with each other, neither of us blinking as the man examines the pathetic child in front of him.

I jump again at the sound of someone behind me and dart my head around to look. It's a woman, with dark skin and black dreadlocks... holding a katana to my throat.  
><em><br>Oh no…_


	2. Chapter 2 Brothers Reunited

**Oliver's POV**

The woman tenses her jaw and narrows her dark brown eyes at me. If she were to sneeze wrong she could so easily slit my jugular wide open! So naturally, I am unable to calm my panting as I stare wild eyed at her. My arms are shaking, splayed out behind me as I try to stay sat up.  
>"You got a group?" I dart my head to the voice of the man with the crossbow still aimed at my head, his deep and distinct southern drawl only adding to the intimidation that his appearance already gives off.<br>I stutter with my words. Suddenly the chance to talk to someone outside of my mind is too much for me to comprehend, "N... I-I... uhh... uh..." I fail to form a sentence, having forgotten his question already.  
>The man glances uneasily at the woman and his crossbow lowers a little, obviously realising that I am too much of a pathetic mess to be of any real threat to them.<br>"Kid, are you alone or not?" the woman demands, lowering her katana as well and furrowing her brow.  
>"I... no, I-I'm on my own," I finally manage to get out, hesitating as I begin to stand up. I look them both in the eye and wait to see if they have any objections, the man nods to me so I take that as approval to bring myself to my feet. I stand, wobbling slightly on my shaky legs, but managing all the same. <em><strong>Get it together Oliver. Be ready to run...<strong>_ _Running isn't going to save me from a bolt out of that guy's crossbow!_  
>My gaze darts between the two strangers, all my senses on red alert. Any sudden movement and I'll make a run for it… it's the only defence mechanism I have left.<br>"What's your name boy?" the man asks, resting his crossbow on his shoulder. I'd consider the gesture as somewhat friendly, though I don't doubt that he would have it aiming right at my face if I were to make any rash movements.  
>I gulp, "O-Oliver," I force from my lungs.<br>The man shifts his weight on his waist a little and narrows his eyes, "Yeah? Oliver, what?" he insists.  
>I open my mouth to answer him but the woman interrupts me. "Oliver? How long've you been alone?" she asks furrowing her brow at me. I see the man narrow his eyes at her for a moment, but he chooses to let her interruption go and listens to what I have to say.<br>"Uh... about 5 months," I say, and the woman's eyebrows rise a little in surprise. I hear the man do a sort of low, quiet grumble and I turn to look at him. He looks me up and down, before glancing at the woman and they exchange a nod with each other. _What are they nodding about?!___**_Just be ready Oliver..._**  
>I brace myself for one of them to launch them selves at me or something. I don't know what they are going to do to me, and I have to admit, I'm terrified. These two don't look like the kind of people that you would want to mess with. But to my surprise, the man only asks me a question.<br>"How many walkers have you killed?"  
>I furrow my brow. <em>He means Biters, right? <em>**_Yes! Oliver, answer him god damn it!_** I shake my head a little and shrug, "I-I don't know... a-a lot," I mumble. _How could I possibly keep count?!_  
>"How many people you killed?" he continues.<br>I shake my head and resist the urge to back away, "N-none, Sir."  
>He does another grunt and nods to the woman. I look at her as she steps in front of me, crossing her arms and looks down on me, "My name's Michonne. This here's Daryl. We've got a prison... 'bout a 30 minute drive from here... Oliver, would you like to come back with us?"<br>My heart skips a beat and my mouth falls open, "Y-you're in The West Georgia Correctional Facility?" I blurt out.___**Really!? That's the question you choose to ask?! Jesus, Oliver, what other prison is there that nearby?!**_  
>Michonne nods and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, "Mhm hmm..." she lifts her brow, waiting for me to give my answer.<br>"Y-yeah... Please? If that's alright Ma'am?" I ramble, my nerves are definitely getting the better of me right now. _**Oliver, stay ready. They could still be bad people.**____Oh... right._ I force my body to relax a little, making myself look a little less desperate than I suddenly feel.  
>Michonne nods and purses her lips at Daryl, to which he nods back, "You got any questions for us?" he asks gruffly.<br>My eyes roll to the back of my head as I try to think of one that doesn't sound like I'm asking them if they are just planning on killing me. _But I think I can trust them? _**_Maybe, they seem okay. Just... be ready, okay?_** I nod to myself and Daryl stares at me, expecting a question after my nod and furrows his brow when I don't give him one.  
>I shake my head, "Oh! N-no, Sir... I don't think so," I mumble, feeling myself blush at letting my inner conversation leak into a real one. <em><strong>Real conversation! Focus on the real conversation, Oliver!<strong>_ _Then stop talking to me!_  
>Daryl looks me up and down, narrowing his eyes. Probably questioning my sanity, but he lets it go and motions out of the store with his crossbow-less hand. "Come on 'en, we got everythin' we need," he declares humbly, grabbing his full supply bag and leading the way out.<br>I pull my backpack onto both shoulders and follow him, Michonne comes behind us, but she stops and goes back to the M&M's shelf. I watch, furrowing my brow as she grabs a few packets and quickly pockets them, before coming back to us and following Daryl out. I can't help the smirk I have on my lips as she glances at me and gives me a quick nonchalant smile. _Yeah, I like these guys. _**_Hmm._**  
>They lead the way through the car park and another few blocks, Michonne takes out a biter with her katana, effortlessly impaling its skull and letting the thing slump to the gravel.<em><em>_**Walkers. They call them walkers.**_ _Yeah I know, but not all of them can actually walk you know. Biter is a much more accurate name for them__**. **_**_Whatever…_**___Muncher works pretty well too, I guess. Or lurker... _**_Just call them walkers Oliver._**_Ugh, fine._  
>"Kid, you alright sittin' in the back?" Michonne asks as she motions across the road to a big, dirt covered, silver pickup truck.<br>"Yes, Ma'am," I answer quickly with a nod, and the three of us cross the road to it. I pretend not to notice as I see Michonne give Daryl a little smirk.___**It's because you keep calling them 'Sir' and 'Ma'am', Oliver. It's probable not that often that they find a teenager with such polite manners...**_ _But that's a good thing right? _**_Hmm, they seem to be pretty amused by it._**_Well, it's just a habit now._  
>Daryl opens the boot and shoves his supply bag in, then motions for me to get in. I hesitate for a moment, but do as he says and climb into the back of the truck. <em>Here we go. This is it, I guess.<em>  
>They both climb in the front, Michonne driving and Daryl in the passenger seat, "Comfy?" Michonne asks, with a little jest behind it.<br>"Yeah," I nod, letting a small smile tug at the corner of my mouth.  
>And just like that, Michonne pulls out into the road and we are off, driving out of the deserted and dead town and soon into the countryside, on our way to whatever this place has in store...<p>

It's a little while later that I notice that the walkers are becoming a little more frequent; seeing four or five every few minutes. I look at our surroundings and see that they are all generally headed in the same direction.  
>"Why are there so many?" I ask curiously, peering through the small window.<br>"We're close now... the deal with living in a large group is that you get clusters of 'em. But we got fences," Michonne reassures me, exchanging a glance with Daryl. I nod and look around a little.  
>We drive past a sign and I read "BEWARE HITCHHIKERS MAY BE ESCAPED INMATES" I don't know why, but it makes me laugh. I do my best to stifle it, but I know that Michonne and Daryl have heard me as they exchange another glance with each other.<br>I force my face to relax and I clear my throat, "S-sorry... it was th-the sign," I explain weakly.  
>Michonne smirks at me and turns around again. I chew my lip. <em><strong>Yeah. They think you're crazy Oliver.<strong>_  
>She motions with her head to something in front of her and I look over the side of the truck to see what it is, sending my hair whipping around my face and I have to grab my beanie to stop it flying off.<br>But then I see it...  
>My mouth falls open and my eyes widen. "Whoa..." falls from my agape lips as I watch The Prison come nearer and nearer. I count 5 tall guard towers, and that's just the ones I can see! There is a large front yard where they even have a vegetable garden and a few animals. The prison building is huge, with big strong brick walls and a tall fence around the whole vicinity...<br>_Oh my god!_  
>People!<br>Lots of people!  
>Living people! Actual living, breathing, blood pumped people! My stomach lurches to my throat and even with the cool air blasting in my face I am sweating.<br>I watch the prison gates open. There are snares set up on either side of it and I see a walker amble after us, but before it can get past the fence, it closes and the stupid creature impales itself on a spike. _**Huh, neat.**_  
>The car drives through the inner fence and I see it close behind us, upon further inspection I see that the gates are being opened by a tall, well built, African American man with a beanie hat on similar to mine, and a teenage boy. The boy looks around my age, with dark brown hair that comes down to the base of his neck and almost covers his forehead. <em>Never thought I'd see another guy with longer hair than me. <em>**_Yeah, suits him better than you though._**___I'd have to agree with that._  
>The two see me; the stranger tucked away in the boot of the vehicle, and they watch as the truck continues up the driveway. I awkwardly purse my lips at them but force myself to look away. <em>Nope! I can't do it. Too many people. <em>**_Oliver, it was just two people... and one of them looks younger than you!_**___Shut the hell up! It's called social anxiety!_  
><strong><br>Carl's POV**

Oh brother. They found another stray...  
>"Come on," Tyreese motions me to follow him.<br>I nod and we make our way up the driveway and into the courtyard. Tyreese goes to greet the 'stray' and helps unpack. I continue past and into D-Block. I said I'd play soccer with Patrick so I'm off to go find him.  
>As I go into the cell block I look over my shoulder and see the guy getting out of the truck. He is talking to Michonne and Dad. They are probably giving him a once over of this place like they do to every new comer, and then he'll be assigned a cell block and cell. He looks pretty nervous, not surprising. They usually do when they arrive. But he'll settle eventually and act like he owns the place like all the rest of them have done.<br>**  
>Oliver's POV<strong>  
><em><br>This is a little overwhelming. _**_Keep it together, Oliver. You can do this._**  
>The man, Rick, is friendly but still intimidating. I don't think he is the leader though. It's obvious that he is very highly respected by everyone here, but I don't think he runs the place. But I don't ponder over this for too long, because Rick explains to me that The Prison is run by a Council. <em>Ohh... so they've made a kind of 'Mini Government' here?<em>__**_Seems they've done pretty well for themselves._**_Yeah..._  
>"Oliver, you'll be in D-Block," Rick tells me.<br>I nod and thank him… for probably the third time now.  
>"Michonne, could ya take the boy to a cell? Get 'im settled?" Daryl asks her, because D-Block is her block too.<br>Michonne nods and bids goodbye to Rick, Daryl and another man who introduced himself as Tyreese. "Let's go kid," she smiles at me with one side of her mouth and leads me to a big building behind the main prison building. I read in big black faded letters on the side of it "D BLOCK"  
>"How old're you, Oliver?" Michonne asks as she holds open the thick doors for me.<br>"I just turned 15, I think... It's October now, right?" I ask, as my birthday is September 30th.  
>Michonne nods, "As far as I know."<br>I have made a surprisingly religious effort to keep track of the date. I don't know why exactly. For no reason in particular time is just really important to me.  
>Michonne walks with me down a short, dim corridor, the light from the cell block further down being the only light source. We turn into a big room with crates stacked against one wall and some random objects on them that belong to people; books, drinks, ornaments, one in particular that catches my eye is an abstract sculpture of a cat, it's coat is an array of different colours from the rainbow. <em>Neat. <em>**_Yeah, it's alright in here. Once you get past the whole 'prison' thing._**  
>"This is the common room… an' through there is the shower room and bathroom," Michonne motions to the shower room. I nod and follow her into the cell block, readjusting my back pack on one shoulder and pulling my beanie further down on my head. I no longer have my machete… Rick said he'd keep it safe, but I was reluctant. I have had it for almost the whole apocalypse, so being asked to give it up was tough.<br>There are two stories of cells on the right side as you go in, and on the left is a grey wall with high barred windows. People are around and I try not to gawk at them. It's been so long since I saw so many human faces that weren't growling and trying to rip my flesh off. _I have to admit, I've really missed people._  
>I see that teenager from earlier. He strolls out of a cell with his hands in his pockets, glancing back at the cell he just came of, "Patrick, you got the soccer ball?" he addresses someone inside of the cell.<br>My head dips at the name he used, thinking of my brother.  
>"Oh. This is Carl. Rick's son," Michonne introduces us.<br>Carl looks to us when his name is spoken and purses his lips into a reluctant smile, "Hi," he addresses me rather dismissively. It doesn't surprise me though, I'm being just as anti-social to him.  
>I nod to him, forcing myself to speak, "I'm Oliver," I introduce myself.<br>Carl nods and looks back to the cell, "Let's go Patrick," he speaks to someone still in the cell.  
>My gut twinges at the name again and I glance at the floor.<p>

"O-Oliver?"

My head pops up at a voice I haven't heard in almost half a year and it sends every nerve in my body into overdrive with recognition. _Oh my god!_ My mouth falls open and my heart stops as I make eye contact with him.  
><em><strong>Patrick? Oh no, Oliver... you're fucking hallucinating now, too!<strong>_  
>I freeze, staring wild eyed at him. <em>It can't be him. Patrick is dead!<em>  
>Carl glances from me to Patrick with a confused expression flooding his face, only confirming that this is not my imagination.<br>Without processing what I am doing, I break into a run across the cell block, "Patrick!" I cry, as he begins to run to me too. Pure relief! I have imagined this moment for 5 months! Finally reuniting with my big brother again. My chest feels like it is about to erupt and it's almost unbearable.  
>But as soon as that emotion forms, another clouds over it without me being able to stop it; rage… I feel my hands ball up into fists, and my face tenses as we run for each other. <em>Wait… Oliver what are you doing?<em>  
>Before I can stop myself. I pull back my arm and sock my brother in the jaw.<br>WHOLLOP!****

**Carl's POV**

What the fuck!  
>"5 MONTHS!" Oliver's roar is earth shaking! He pins Patrick to the ground, sending the soccer ball flying across the cell block out of the teenagers hands. I wince as Oliver hits him again, and again, causing Patrick to fold over underneath the boy. "YOU WERE DEAD! 5 MONTHS! 5 MONTHS!" Oliver chants like a mad man!<br>Me and Michonne leap forward and force Oliver off of Patrick. I grab the kid with one arm around his shoulders and the other around his neck, "Stop! What the hell?!" I bark at him as he thrashes wildly in my headlock. Michonne puts her arms around his torso and I let go of the lunatic, rushing to Patrick and helping him to stand up instead. Jesus, he is shaking!  
>He stands to his feet and spits blood, cradling his swelling jaw and lips with his hands. The cell block doors crash open and Glenn, Daryl and Dad bolt in, weapons drawn. No doubt they heard Oliver's bellowing. Glenn with his gun and Daryl with his crossbow, both aim their weapons at the boy. But I know that they won't shoot... I would… The kid is insane! But lucky for him that my dad took my gun…<br>"Don't!" Patrick splutters, barely able to hear him over Oliver's shouting, swallowing the blood in his mouth. _What? How could Patrick be defending that guy?!_ Though my question is soon answered by Patrick's next words…

"Don't! H-he's my brother!"

I shift my gaze between the two. _Oh my god, they really are brothers! Patrick has a brother!?_ I gulp and step back from him, speechless. Patrick has never told me anything about his family before this. When the topic first arose a few weeks after he arrived, he got very uncomfortable and panicky, so I never asked him again. I guess that is why he is shaking…  
>Suddenly, Oliver stops struggling against Michonne's grip and falls to his knees, crying and mumbling to himself as he holds an arm out for his brother. Despite what just happened, Patrick rushes forward and wraps his arms around his brother's shaking shoulders and they cry hysterically, enveloping their arms around each other as if they're holding on for their lives.<br>I exchange worried glances with everyone else and we all watch the brothers closely for a moment. Until Dad motions for all of us to leave, coming to the conclusion that Patrick and Oliver have a lot of talking to do together. But Michonne stays, just in case Oliver decides to lash out again. He seems a little… unhinged. I guess '5 months' can do that to a person.  
><strong><br>Oliver's POV**

I weep as I bear hug my brother, completely overwhelmed by everything that has just happened. He's here. He's alive. I'm not alone anymore. But I won't let go of him. If I do he'll disappear like before. He'll die all over again and I'll really be alone.  
>"H-how did y-you es-escape? I-I saw you… th-that walker took y-you d-down," he sobs, pulling me closer to him as he kneels down. It seems he is experiencing the same emotional turmoil that I am right now.<br>"I got out. I l-looked for y-you, Pat… B-but that car p-park was f-flooded with th-them… But I d-didn't stop looking for you. I left signs… y-you were gone," I hiccup into his sweater.  
>I pull away, trusting myself enough not to burst out crying again. Patrick stares at me with his eyebrows raised and motions to the cell that he was in a minute ago, "Come on. We probably shouldn't be sitting in the middle of the cell block."<br>I nod and bring myself to my feet.  
>"Patrick, you should go see Dr. S?" Michonne suggests, narrowing her eyes at me.<br>I pull at my beanie hat and begin to feel the guilt that I deserve for being so aggressive. _**Great, Oliver! Now they all think you're fucking mental!**_ _I wouldn't blame them. I don't even know what that was…_  
>"Yes, Ma'am… but I'll go in a little while. We just really need some time," my brother tells her.<br>She tenses her jaw and looks at me, "We do not tolerate violence here… Got that?" she demands, intimidating, but to my surprise she's not actually angry with me.  
>"Y-yes, Ma'am. I'm really sorry… It won't happen again. I-I swear," I promise truthfully.<br>She stares at me for a moment, but her expression softens and she nods. No doubt she acknowledges the fact that today has been rough for me. Rough for Patrick, too.  
>Michonne glances to him behind me and he must give her some sort of confirmation that I'll be alright, because she nods and gives us a friendly salute. Before turning on her heel and leaving the cell block.<br>"Come on, Dude," Patrick motions me to follow him, slurring a little as he wipes his swollen and bruised mouth. Luckily the bleeding isn't too bad, but I don't think his sleeves will ever be the same dirty blue again.

We talk for a long time.  
>It turns out that Patrick tried to stay in the car park for as long as possible, but when it was getting too crowded he managed to escape, but he went the opposite way that I did around the store so we ended up just on the wrong side of the building at the wrong moment. <strong>Figures…<strong>  
>When he couldn't find me (by this time I was probably at the point of suffocating in that forest) Patrick had to make a run for it, and a few hours later he ended up running right into some of the prison group as they were coming back from setting up a boom box. That's why there were so many walkers all of a sudden. They were following the noise.<br>It was all just at the wrong time and the wrong place.  
>After a little while, when we have told each other everything that has happened to each other since the store, we are back to laughing and joking with each other. Almost as if none of it ever happened at all. It's just a giant relief to know that Patrick is okay, and to know that I will be too.<br>We're here now, finally back as brothers again. Seeing as he is here and has been for all of this time, it just eliminates any previous fears I had of this place being bad. _I know I'll be okay here.___**_Yeah, now all you have to do is just show everyone that you're not a damn psychopath._**___Oh yeah… I can see where I may have a problem…_  
><strong><br>Carl's POV**

After throwing out any hope of still having a soccer game with Patrick, I head down to the garden to help Dad out on tending the vegetables. Not that I particularly want to play farmer any more than I really want to play soccer, but it's to be expected, so I do it anyway. When we finish, we go to the cafeteria and grab some food.  
>Almost everyone is half done with eating supper by the time that Patrick and his brother finally emerge from their cell and come into the cafeteria to get some food too. The must have had a lot to talk about, because they were in there for almost 3 hours.<br>"Hey," Patrick smiles to me and Michonne, clearly in a much better mood than he was in the last time I saw him. "Hey guys. Found a shower I see," Michonne smiles to them both. I notice that Oliver is clean now. The dirt smudges and blood spatters are gone, showing his tanned skin and brown hair under his beanie hat. I can see the resemblance to him and Patrick a lot more now.  
>"Yes, the smells finally gone," Patrick smirks at his brother, to which Oliver elbows him in the arm.<br>I give a small nod to Oliver and smile at Patrick, "Did Doctor. S fix your face?" I ask, pointing my fork at his bruised jaw and swollen lower lip. Both are looking a lot better than they were before.  
>Patrick nods and takes a seat next to me as his brother takes a seat opposite him next to Michonne, who is opposite me. He begins his meal without talking, and I can tell that he is trying hard not to stuff all of the dear meat into his mouth at once. I'm betting that he hasn't had a proper meal in a while.<br>I look away from him and raise my brow at Patrick, silently condemning him for not telling me about his sibling. He purses his lips in silent apology and begins his meal too.  
>"Oh… I got you somethin'," Michonne chirps at me.<br>I smile a little and watch her fish into her jacket pocket and pull out a packet of M&M's. She smirks and hands it to me. I laugh quietly, "Thanks," I say, splitting open the packet and grabbing a handful of them.  
>I offer some to Patrick. He glances at his brother for a brief moment and they seem to have a telepathic conversation together, before the older teenager nods and takes a handful for himself. I hesitate to offer any to Oliver, but Michonne nudges me under the table with her foot, so I relent before I look rude. Oliver declines however.<br>I throw a few in my mouth, but grimace as I begin to chew them, "Ugh… I think they're stale…" I complain, arching my eyebrows at Michonne as I chew the out of date candy. She scoffs and I hand her back the packet, "I think I'll pass… thanks anyway, though," I purse my lips, ignoring the smirk Oliver is trying not to show on his face.  
>"That's jus' more for me then," she glares playfully at me.<br>We continue with our meal and I mostly just talk to Patrick and Michonne, maybe giving Oliver a one syllable response and he does the same to me. I'm just not sure about him, especially after seeing how crazy he was earlier.  
>Michonne finishes her meal before us, and leaves the three of us at the table. Michonne and Patrick are pretty much my best friends here at the prison. I usually spend most of my time with Patrick, and I appreciate Michonne coming to sit with us every once in a while as I'm sure she would rather sit with Dad or Daryl.<br>Patrick starts joking with Oliver about his 'new' beanie hat, and after observing them for a few minutes as I eat, I learn that Oliver seems to be quite a witty kid.  
>"Going for the hippie-slash-walker-slayer look then?" Patrick mocks him, plucking the hat from Oliver's head and scuffing up his brown hair beneath it. I'm surprised by how long his hair actually is, almost as long as mine. I'm not sure why I find this surprising, he did say he was out there for 5 months.<br>"Uh huh… I think it works for me," Oliver jokes.

_I agree. Wait, what?.._

I push that thought out of my head and resume observing the two as Patrick refuses to give it back to him and continues to tease his brother. "Pat, go shove a condom on your head… if you're gonna be such a dick, you might as well dress like one," Oliver says.  
>I actually find myself laughing at this without meaning to, causing me to almost choke on my food as I try to stifle it. I quickly force myself to stop and continue with my food, as Oliver snatches his hat back and puts it on his head again. I shift my eyes to him and see that he is smirking a little at me with a small dimple on one cheek, and I can't help the defiant smile that tugs at the corner of my lips.<br>I decide to give him a chance and make an actual conversation with him… well, sort of, "So Patrick… were you ever gonna tell me you have a brother?" I ask.  
>"Dude… come on," he begins to say this to me, but he notices the narrowed eyes from his brother and turns to continue his sentence to him instead, "let it go."<br>"Oh my gosh… he calls you _Dude,_ too," Oliver turns to me.  
>I nod and chuckle without giving myself permission to do so. "Yeah. Pretty much all the time," I say truthfully, rolling my eyes at Patrick.<br>"And it's always, 'Sir' or 'Ma'am' to everyone else, right?" Oliver continues, both of us thoroughly enjoying ganging up on Patrick, despite how discreet I am behaving.  
>I nod and smirk at Patrick and he stares at both of us with his mouth open.<br>"Jeeze! Pick on me, why don't you. What would you prefer… Young Sir?" he jokes.  
>I roll my eyes again, "How about our actual names?" I suggest, smirking at him.<br>"Nahh, I'm actually quite liking 'Young Sir' now… yeah, that'll work," he says, rubbing his chin.  
>I exchange a glance with Oliver and his smile broadens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle a little, "Think I preferred, Dude," he jokes, lifting his brow at me.<br>I chuckle at him and nod, before looking away and finishing my food.

Oliver is growing on me.  
>He seems alright.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3 Superman vs Wolverine

**Oliver's POV**

I have been living at the prison for a week, and I have finally managed to rid myself of my previous reputation as The Prison Psycho, thankfully. I was assigned to help out with preparing the food with Patrick and Carol. I like it, everyone is really appreciative and it's a really 'feel-good' job. Well, that's what I think anyway.  
>In my spare time, I mostly just hang out with Patrick, or read… a lot… really a lot. I have accidentally horded about 30 books under my cot in my cell. It's not necessarily stealing, I'll return them… eventually. It's just, when I read a book and I fall in love with it, it's really hard to give it back. So you see my problem... but I will return them.<br>I hardly speak to any of the other kids. We're on good terms and everything, but I'm just not very good at talking to them. Take Carl for instance; we only ever hang out with each other when we're both with Patrick, and granted; we do have a laugh. But without Patrick around, we'll rarely spark up a conversation on our own.  
>I'm in the outside cafeteria with Patrick and Carol, we're serving a load of squirrel that Daryl caught earlier, and some canned beans; dishing and handing the plates to whoever comes by and asks.<br>Carl has just finished his breakfast and puts his plate on the pile of dirty ones next to me, "You comin' to play some soccer Patrick?" he asks my brother, clutching a soccer ball under his arm.  
>"Yep, almost done here," he answers him, handing Sasha a plate and she thanks him.<br>"Okay," Carl nods. But for some reason, he purses his lips and stares at Patrick for a moment, and when my brother doesn't respond and only stares right back at him in confusion, Carl raises his brow and suddenly motions his eyes to me for a fraction of a second. When his sights meet mine and I look away quickly, and awkwardly pretend I didn't see that; continuing to serve a piece of squirrel onto the plate I'm holding. But his strange gesture has caused me to loose focus on what I'm doing and I almost drop the plate!  
>Patrick scoffs and rolls his eyes; both at my clumsiness and Carl's strange gesture, "Oliver… do you wanna play too?" he asks as if it is the most exhausting question in the world. <em><strong>Ohh. Carl was asking Patrick to ask you.<strong>_ _Why didn't he just ask me himself? _**_I don't know… he's probably just socially retarded like you._**_ Shut up, and that's offensive!_  
>"Uh… Y-yeah. Alright," I stutter. Carl and Patrick both stifle a chuckle as I fumble with the plate, setting it down on the surface before I really do end up dropping it. I avoid their gaze and finish putting the beans on the plate, before handing it to Glenn, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. <em><strong>Smooth Oliver…<strong>_ _I'm not trying to be smooth!_  
>Carl goes and waits patiently at a bench, rolling the soccer ball across the metal surface until both me and Patrick are done with our chores. Carol gives us her blessing to leave and the three of us head down to the back field.<p>

There are already a few kids out here, and they're all enjoying a game of dodge ball. We scrap out plans to play soccer and just join the game with them instead. It's awesome. But due to my crap-for-breathing lungs, I have to stop and take a break after about an hour. But I've still got my inhaler. It's almost out, but I know that there are spares in the infirmary.  
>I take the bitter spray and feel my airways loosen again. But I choose to sit and watch for a little while, because my breathing is still a little wheezy. I'll just wait until I feel like I can join in again without my lungs arguing with me.<br>I laugh to myself as Patrick throws a basket ball at Carl and it hits him in the shoulder, sending him plummeting to his hands and knees and rolling over onto his back, "Dammit!" he hisses and glares at Patrick, before bringing himself to his feet again.  
>"You're out Carl!" a little girl called Molly giggles at him. He rolls his eyes and jogs to the side lines. I watch for a moment; grinning my head off at his surprisingly short temper.<br>But as he goes, Carl's eyes suddenly dart to me, noticing my smug expression at his failure. _Shit!_ I do that awkward thing again, where I look away suddenly for no apparent reason. Hoping that Carl doesn't think I was being rude, or think I was watching him._**Which you kind of were…**_ _No, I just saw him… I wasn't watching him!_  
>But to my surprise, Carl makes a beeline for me, "You out too?" he asks, slumping down next to me and wiping the sweat from his forehead. I raise my inhaler to his eye line, silently showing him that my breathing was playing up again and he nods in understanding, before looking out to watch the game.<br>After a short moment he turns to me again, "How long have you had it?" he asks. I pull my beanie down on my head and look at him; unsure if he is genuinely interested, or is just forcing a conversation with the 'asthmatic kid' because he thinks he has to. But as my eyes meet his, I see the intrigue and curiosity behind his strikingly bright cerulean irises, and the pursed lips that are waiting to ask more questions playing on his mind.  
>"Uh… since I was about 4, I think," I answer him. He nods a little and looks out to the game again for a moment.<br>I am about to focus on it too, but he turns back to me again, "That gotta be rough… is it bad?" he asks, lifting his brow in curiosity and looking at me with his head tilted a little. I'm surprised by how casual he is acting; talking to me as if such social behaviour between the two of us is a common occurrence. When in all honesty, this is the longest conversation me and Carl have ever had together. But I'll go with it.  
>"It's alright… I mean, when you get past the whole 'lack of oxygen' thing," I smirk at him sarcastically.<br>He lets a smile creep across his lips, "I'm sure that comes in handy in the middle of the apocalypse," he jokes.  
>I cock an eyebrow at him and laugh, "Yep. I am; the Ultimate Dooms Day Survivor," I fake a triumphant expression and chuckle to myself. Carl does a sort of, slow laugh as he nods in agreement.<br>I pull at my beanie hat a little, "It's about as useful as Aquaman stranded in the Sahara dessert," I counteract myself. Suddenly Carl's eyebrows rise, "You're into superheroes?"  
>"Uh huh," I nod. His smile broadens, showing a dimple on both sides of his freckled cheeks, "D'you read any comics?" he asks, readjusting himself to a kneeling position and facing me a little more.<br>I nod again, "I used to… you got any?" I ask hopefully, smiling at his eagerness on the topic.  
>He purses his lips and nods, "Yeah. Michonne brings them back from her runs sometimes. I've got a whole lode of them in my cell," he answers.<br>"Oh Cool," I smile and Carl's eyes dart from me to the game for a moment, as if he is considering something, but he dismisses his thoughts and just continues to watch the game again.  
>I'm guessing that he doesn't get much opportunity to talk about this kind of thing with Patrick. My brother has never really been into comics. He'll read them, but usually only as a last resort to subdue his boredom. But I used to have a whole bookshelf full, and I'd collect action figures of the characters and buy all of the movies from my allowance money. Being the giant dork that I was; pretty much all I ever did before this, was read comics, nerd out on my laptop playing Dungeons and Dragons with my online friends and jerk off over pictures of Wonder Woman… sometimes Thor too. But, I don't think I'll bring that particular subject up right now…<br>There's a short pause, before Carl speaks up again, "Well, d'you wanna read some?" he proposes, keeping his sights trained on the game. I look to him and nod, "Uh, yeah sure."  
>Carl turns to me and smiles, before he brings himself to his feet, "Come on then," he says, walking back towards C-Block. <em>What? Wait, isn't he going to wait for Patrick?<em>  
>I hesitate; glancing at Patrick playing with the others, and then looking back to Carl as he continues to walk away, "What, go now?!" I call after him.<br>He stops and turns around mid step to face me, already about 50 yards away, "Yeah, c'mon!" he yells, motioning me to follow him with his hand.  
><em>This is a first! I'm going to do something with Carl, without Patrick coming along. <em>**_Then go, Dork!_** "Right," I affirm out loud as I stand up. I brush myself off and quickly rush after him, giving him a smirk as he leads the way to C-Block.

**Carl's POV**

We walk through the C-Block corridor, debating over who is the greatest super hero or heroine. Regardless of how completely ridiculous this may be thought of to others, this is probably the best conversation I have had in a long time! _Oliver is brilliant!_ I mean, he's a pretty cool guy.  
>I never talk about this stuff with anyone. I have tried to convince Michonne about comics; and she shows mediocre enthusiasm towards them. But I can tell that she only does it to entertain me. Patrick on the other hand, just reads when he has nothing better to do, and even then he only looks at the pictures. I know that comics are mostly just pictures, but unless you actually read them too, you just don't get the full experience of it and can't properly appreciate how great they really are.<br>Oliver is trying to make the argument that Iron Man could win in a battle against Wolverine, but I completely disagree. "Uh, no… Wolverine would totally _destroy_ Iron Man! Wolverine is literally invincible! You can't beat that!" I argue, expressing my love for the character.  
>Oliver scoffs and furrows his eyebrows at me, "What? No way! Iron Man woul- ugh whatever. What about... Wolverine versus Superman? He's invincible too," he laughs at the ridiculous mash up.<br>I think for a moment as we turn into the common room, ginning like idiots, "Uh... Well first of all, that would never happen... Superman and Wolverine are from completely different comic universes..." I say in jest, and I can tell by Oliver rolling his eyes at me that he already knows this, so I continue, "Second of all... Superman, of course... 'cause he's super strong... all he'd have to do is jus', crush Wolverine into a tiny piece of indestructible metal…" I tell him, motioning with my hands the sort of action that flattening a coca cola can looks like.  
>He nods in agreement, but suddenly starts laughing to himself, "What?" I ask, dropping my hands and laughing along with him. As it turns out, Oliver's laugh is pretty contagious.<br>"I was just thinking, Wolverine could just… run Superman a bath or something, but then just throw a load of liquid kryptonite in the water. He'd be rendered powerless and so Wolverine could just stab him," he chuckles.  
>I laugh at him and shake my head in jest, "In what circumstance would Wolverine ever have to run Superman a bath!? You're so weird," I joke as I pull open the cell block doors and we go in, both of us heaving with laughter. I'm laughing so hard my stomach is hurting!<br>I've always thought that the whole 'being a normal kid again' thing was a little tedious. With Dad always expecting me to do kid's stuff like he thinks I should. But I have to admit, it is pretty fun. But I won't make a habit of this, there are still worse things imaginable out there to worry about…  
>I spot Carol sat on the stairs, cooing to Judith with Dad stood next to them talking about something to Carol. I make an effort to settle my chuckling, "Hey," I wave to them as me and Oliver walk through the cell block.<br>They look up from my sister and smile at us, "Hey boys... Where's Patrick?" Carol asks, craning her neck to see if he is following us.  
>"Uh... he's out on the field with the others," I tell her, strolling up to her and holding my arms out for Judith. They smile at me and Carol hands my sister over, Little Judith reaches out for me and babbles to herself as I pick her up and balance her on my hip.<br>"Hey Judy," I coo as she paws at my cheeks. Dad mumbles something to Carol about story time and then bids us all goodbye, before leaving the cell block.  
>My sister giggles and waves her arm after him, but soon settles for me and nuzzles back into my chest. I glance at Oliver and see that he is grinning at her, "D'you wanna hold her?" I offer.<br>Oliver's smile drops, "Uh... N- I'm... I don't wanna drop her," he stutters with his words. I step closer and lift her from my waist, holding her out to him with my eyebrows raised, "You won't... it's not rocket science Dork."  
>Oliver narrows his eyes at me, but relents and holds out his arms for me to carefully hand her to him. He furrows his brow in concentration as he gets her balanced on his hip, but as she settles a little; a crooked smile creeps across his expression, "Hi Little Ass Kicker," he hums a laugh and glances at me.<br>I chuckle at him. Daryl's nick name for my sister is getting pretty popular with most people at the prison now, including Oliver it seems; much to my father's dismay though.  
>Judith giggles at him and reaches up to his beanie hat, "Well, she doesn't hate you," I say truthfully, crossing my arms as I watch them. I think I'm a little jealous that Judith has taken to Oliver so quickly. <em>Or that Oliver has taken to Judith so much...<em> What?! No!  
>"Carl, you okay?" Carol asks, causing me to startle a little. I realise that I was frowning to myself, so I soften my face and nod nonchalantly.<br>"Uh huh. Come on, let's check out those comics," I lift my brow at Oliver and motion him to follow me, brushing off my previous thoughts with a subtle head shake.  
>He nods and carefully hands Judith back to Carol. As he does this, and isn't looking at Carol; I catch a strangely suspicious glance from her. I furrow my brow back in confusion and she lifts her eyebrows and widens her eyes. But I pretend not to notice and instead head to my cell with Oliver following. <em>That was weird. I wonder what that was about?<em>  
>I crouch under my bed and pull out about 5 of my comics at random, "Oh man! You've got Kick Ass… Awesome," Oliver stares in awe at the cover, pulling at his beanie hat. He seems to do that a lot, it's funny. He never actually moves the thing, only pulls at it a little every time. I think it's just a habit. But, I can't help but feel a small smile tug at the corner of my mouth whenever he does it.<br>"Yeah, you like him?" I ask, to which Oliver nods so I hand the comic to him, "He's alright, but he doesn't really have super powers. He's just a random teenager who buys a wet suit and acts like a super hero," I say my thoughts out loud as I examine the cover with Oliver.  
>"Yeah, but that's what's so great about him. He is just a normal kid, who decides to do something really stupid, which pretty much ends up with him almost getting himself and everyone he cares about killed. But it's great because it's realistic, and what happened to him could totally happen in real life… well, not so much any more," Oliver rambles as he opens the comic and begins to read stood up.<br>I chuckle at him and go to sit on my bed, starting on a Wolverine comic. I chuckle again as I find myself imagining him drawing a bath for Superman. _It is pretty funny._  
>"You can sit down," I lift an eyebrow at him as he continues to just stand in the middle of the room, his head darts up from the comic to me and he breaths an embarrassed laugh, "Right."<br>He sits next to me and continues to dig into the comic, and I giggle to myself at how engrossed he is in it already. I was the same when Michonne brought them back for the first time. So I understand his passion, however nerdy it may be.  
>We sit and read like this for a while, just enjoying sharing our enthusiasm on the subject. Occasionally blurting out our annoyance or triumph on a character's actions or decisions.<p>

**Oliver's POV**

"There you are," Patrick says as he strolls into Carl's cell. I realise that during the time I have been reading; I have somehow managed to subconsciously position myself on Carl's bed so that I am led on my back with my legs rested against the wall. _When did I sit like this? _**_You must've been too immersed in the comic._**_ Yeah I've only got a few pages left._  
>"Sorry… we've been reading," I apologise, lifting the Kick Ass comic, I see everything upside-down as Patrick smirks at the ridiculous position I am led in and shakes his head.<br>"It's fine. I was hanging out with Lizzie and Mika… that's why I came looking for you guys, it's story time in a minute."  
>"Oh right… Okay," I clumsily swing my legs back over myself, almost hitting Carl in the process, "Ack! Watch it!" he grumbles, chuckling to himself as he holds his arm up to stop me from kicking him.<br>"Sorry man… hey, are you gonna come along?" I ask, setting myself straight again. He shakes his head and gives me and Patrick a cocked eyebrow, "Uh… no. I'm good."  
>I shrug and hand him the comic, before jumping off the bed, "Later," I chirp, he purses his lips back in a patronising smile, I narrow my eyes at him, "Wait… Why don't you ever go?" I ask slowly.<br>Carl stares at me, mimicking my facial expression and narrowing his eyes back, but he is smirking so I know that he is only joking, "Because… it's for kids."  
>I raise my eyebrows at him and scoff, "Uhh… you're younger than both of us," I argue jokingly, motioning to me and my brother.<br>He nods in a mocking fashion, "Yeah… exactly," he states. I cock an eyebrow at him and chuckle to myself, before rolling my eyes and waving him off dismissively, "Whatever. See you later?" I ask.  
>He nods and smirks at me and Patrick, "Yep. Have fun reading kids books," he patronises, "We will… Have fun reading comics."<br>At my words; Carl looks at me through his eyelashes, still facing the comic as he tries to suppress his smile.  
>"Later young Sir," Patrick says as he leaves, expecting me to follow. I back out of the cell, still playfully narrowing my eyes at the teen Grimes as he continues to give me a staring contest.<br>He chuckles to himself and winks jokingly at me, I laugh at the unusual gesture, before turning and following after my brother.

Story time is actually pretty boring. Carl is right; it is only kid's books. But Patrick always insists that I go, and this is the third time that I have been now. Whenever I say I'm going to skip it, my brother always says, "It's important," or "We couldn't do it last time, there were too many people around," but I have never known what this suspicious _'__it'_ is.  
>Well I found out today…<br>A man -who's name I still don't know- usually watches over story time as Carol reads to us. But today he left pretty early, maybe only a few minutes in. But when he did; I instantly noticed Patrick tense up next to me on his chair. I chose to sit on a blue bean bag today, I like it, and it's all about enjoying the little things now, right?  
>Anyway, when this happened, I also noticed a lot of the other kids were acting strangely too, and then Carol put down the book she was reading, it was 'Peter Pan'.<br>"Do you want me to keep watch Carol?" a boy called Luke asks. She nods and thanks him. I furrow my eyebrows and look at Patrick, mouthing 'What's happening?' to which he purses his lips and motions with his eyes back to Carol. _What the hell!_  
>I watch as Carol pulls out a small box from under her seat, she opens it and shows all of us a variety of mushrooms and strange looking fruit. They are all a little wrinkled and aged now, as I am guessing she has been planning this for a while. <em>Maybe this is the 'it' that we couldn't do last time?<em>  
>"Now… who can tell me which of these are edible, and which are poisonous? Anyone?" she asks, in a clear teacher's voice.<br>No one answers, although I know the answer. It's strange how; after over a year of living in the apocalypse, I'm still to nervous to put my damn hand up in class. Because everyone stays silent, Carol goes on to tell us which are safe. _So this is what Patrick is all secretive about. Carol's teaching the kids survival skills. _**_But why does it have to be a secret?_**_ I don't know… I wonder if Carl knows. I know that he has been to at least a few story time sessions. _**_Yeah, but that was when it first started. I don't think that Carol has been teaching the kids for more that a few months._**  
>Carol spends the rest of story time explaining where best to forage for edible food, and little tricks to tell if they are alright to eat. She is a very wise and skilled woman, but I can see that she is being wary about teaching. Every time that Luke warns that someone is coming, –which only happened twice- Carol quickly conceals the objects and continues reading Peter Pan, while all of us stay silent and act like nothing happened, until it's clear and we all continue with the lesson again. It's weird, but I don't think that it is a bad idea to teach the kids this stuff.<p>

"Class dismissed," Carol ends the 'lesson' and everyone begins to stand up and gather their things. I stretch out my arms; as it happens, sitting in one position for a long enough time is surprisingly uncomfortable.  
>When everyone leaves, including Patrick; I amble over to where Carol is, I want to ask her something about her classes. I nonchalantly skim through the bookshelf to my left as I go. <em><strong>Old habits die hard.<strong>_ _I'm just looking. _**_You have half of the library under your bunk anyway._**_ Yeah, but no one knows about that, and there are always more books to read._  
>"Oliver…" I startle suddenly at Carol's voice. I had begun to forget why I stayed behind as I spotted another interesting book, but I turn to face her and put the novel to the back of my head.<br>"Yes Ma'am?" I ask. Carol glances at the floor for a moment, furrowing her brow before looking at me again, "I wanted to thank you for cooperating in my lesson… I know you and Carl are friends now, and I hate to expect you to do this," she explains in hushed tones.  
>I furrow my eyebrows and tilt my head a little in confusion, "Expect me to do what?" I ask curiously.<br>She stares at me for a moment, "Oliver… You can't let Carl find out about this… He'll tell Rick and he won't want me teaching them these things… Please? These kids… they need to know how to survive out there if they ever have to," she explains tenderly, also answering the question I was originally planning to ask her (does Rick know about this?).  
>I chew my lip, but nod, "Yes Ma'am. I understand... If it makes any difference, I don't think that Carl would disagree with this," I offer.<br>Carol nods, "I know, but he will still have to tell his father… so please, don't tell him?" she asks.  
><em>She wants me to lie to Carl and Rick. <em>**_No, you don't have to lie to them Oliver. You just don't say anything._**_ Uhh… _**_Right Oliver?!_**_ Yeah… right._  
>I swallow my dry throat and nod, "Okay… Uh, Ma'am?" I ask and Carol nods in intrigue, "I know that this is important… after living out there for the whole time, it would've really helped out in the beginning if we knew this kind of stuff, me and Patrick kind of had to learn it all the hard way… so I think that this is the right thing to do."<br>Carol lets a warm smile spread across her lips and she nods solemnly, "Thank you Oliver," she says. I nod and leave, walking past her and heading back to my cell block, quickly nabbing a book at random from the fantasy section without anyone noticing.  
>When I get to my cell, I'm not surprised to find Patrick and Carl in there, "Hey," I say, strolling in and sitting next to Patrick on the bottom bunk, as Carl lets his legs dangle over the top, "What took you so long?" Patrick asks me, keeping a level voice, but I can see the worry in his eyes. <em><strong>He thinks that you disagree with Carol's lessons.<strong>_  
>I shake my head, "Nothing. I was just looking through the books," I say, showing him the book in my hand. His eyes linger on mine and I mouth 'really'; silently confirming that I wasn't arguing with Carol or whatever it is that he's worried that I was doing.<br>"What book did you get?" Carl asks from the top bunk, with little to average interest. I slide off of the bed and climb up to the top bunk with him, he scoots over to give me room.  
>"Elsewhere, by Will Shatterly," I read on the cover, and quickly try to skim over the blurb so that I sound convincing if he asks what the book is about.<br>"What's it about," he asks, like I was afraid he would. _Damn! I didn't finish the blurb._  
>"I-I don't know yet… I gotta read the story first," I say, saving myself with sarcasm. Carl rolls his eyes and cranes his head to read the blurb.<br>I hand it over to him, "Here, you can read it if you want?" I offer. I'm not that into fantasy novels, I'm more of a horror/adventure guy. But I'm guessing Carl might like it.  
>He grins and nods, "Yeah, thanks." he says, continuing to read the blurb. I smile at him and climb off of the bunk and head rummage through the bed side table for one of Patrick's books that I have started reading.<br>We all hang out in D-Block for the rest of the evening. It's like a strange dream or hallucination being here at the prison. Only a week ago, I was scavenging for any food I could get my hands on, half insane and unable to understand why I was still alive. It's surreal; going from the pure danger and pain that is everywhere out there, to being here… safe, full bellied, somewhere to sleep and stay clean, surrounded by friends and with my brother.  
>I want to say that I can just forget about all of the terrible stuff that I've seen out there. But I know that I never will. It's become a part of me now. It's become a part of everyone.<br>I just hope that it can stay like this. It may be naïve to think like this, but I feel like if everything stays this good; we could really spend the rest of our lives here…


	4. Chapter 4 I'm Just A Little Confused

**Oliver's POV**

"Wake up,"  
>I hear someone whisper to me. But I bury my face further into my pillow, refusing to acknowledge their existence. <em>No, not yet. Just a few more minutes!<em>

"Doofus, wake up."

It's Carl. I'd know that pubescent-and-only-just-breaking voice anywhere. _**Dammit!**_  
>"Mhughh ufff," I try to mumble 'fuck off' into my pillow.<br>I hear him chuckle, assuming that he has admitted defeat and will leave me alone. But I'm wrong.

**THONK!**

I suddenly jolt in my sleep as I feel a heavy mass hit me in the middle of my forehead. "Ow! Shit head!" I growl, opening my eyes to glare at him as he leans over my cot with my book 'Butterfly Lion' in his hand, grinning madly at the pain he has caused from hitting me with it. I sit up and rub my forehead as the pulsating throb subsides a little. "What?!" I groan at him, trying to scowl at him but in my drowsy state all I can manage is to frown with my mouth open.

"Chores," Carl smirks, motioning his head out of the door and I only just notice that Rick is stood right in the doorway. _Shit! I never cuss! Well, hardly ever, and definitely not in front of Rick!_ To be honest, the only person I do cuss in front of is Carl. But he knows this and has obviously annoyed me on purpose so that I would swear in front of his Dad.  
>"Sorry Mr Grimes," I blurt out, feeling my cheeks burn.<br>"It's alright son," Rick chuckles, shaking his head in amusement as he turns out of my cell.  
>I turn slowly to Carl and glare at him, "That was cold," I hiss, frowning at him, "even for you."<br>Carl just grins and sneers, a moment later glancing at my exposed torso and smirking, "Get dressed… we're heading out, _now_," he says, handing me back my book.  
>"Me and Pat don't have chores for another hour," I moan as I toss the novel onto my beside table, rolling over and flopping my face back onto the pillow and meagrely attempting to rub the sleep from the one eye that isn't flattened against the bed.<br>Carl shakes his head and brings himself to stand, "Nope. He's already gone to his chores. Dad's volunteered us for something else today," he says mischievously.  
>I lift my head and furrow my brow at him, "What?" I ask curiously, squinting as my eyes adjust to the morning light and listening for a moment to see if Patrick really did leave without waking me up, which I realise he did exactly that.<br>Carl seems pretty excited about this. He told me a few weeks ago that his father took his weapons as well, and stopped him from doing anything involving the walkers; keeping watch, fence clean up, runs, all of the stuff that I know he is more than capable of. He says he's fine with it though, but I think he only says that to please his Dad. I'm not sure if I believe him though. I've only known him for a month (as it is about early November now) and Carl isn't one for pity stories, so I only know what I know about his personality from observation and what Patrick has told me. But I think that with his Dad asking something from him has gotten him excited to prove himself again.  
>"We're fixing that leak in the cafeteria roof… Dad tole me <em>'<em>_we're the men for the job'_," Carl imitates his father's low gritty voice and Southern drawl as he quotes him, and I can't help it as my cheeks heat up.  
>"O-okay," I stutter, trying not to stare at him as he leans against the doorway of my cell a little, crossing his arms and smiling at me with one side of his lips. <em>Damn.<em> I know my cheeks are only getting redder and redder by the second! _What the fuck! God damn it stop!_  
>"I'll wait outside," he says coolly, before standing up straight again and strolling out with his hands in his pockets. <em>Jesus…<em>  
>I palm myself in the face and scrunch up my eyes and nose, "Stop it Oliver. Stop it right now," I mumble to myself. <em>That was worse than usual!<em>  
>I have been living at the prison for a month now and Carl has become my closest friend, though I will never tell him that, nor he me. But I am becoming more and more aware of certain… emotions towards him. It's dumb, I know, and it's just a childish attraction. I try not to think about it too much, which I have been doing pretty well until lately. But it's moments like just then when he uses that uncommon charm of his, and when he leans against the wall with that half smile of his... that such a task becomes increasingly difficult. He doesn't know I keep thinking like this, and he never will. I have questioned my sexuality on countless occasions before and I always come out with the same answer; it's pointless to worry about it because you're living in the fucking apocalypse.<br>So don't think about it and let it go.  
>Though lately, I am having to recite this advice in my head more times in one day than I can keep count, and it's worrying me a little.<br>I change quickly, brush my teeth and then gather a few things, stuffing them in my hoodie front pocket, before meeting Carl and his father in the common room and heading out to the courtyard together with a load of tools to use for the roof.  
>We all climb up onto the main building, using a long ladder that Rick found somewhere inside of The Prison. The roof is flat and a large area. It's higher up here than I thought. But I have missed that adrenaline rush coursing through my veins as it's not something I feel very often anymore. But I never realised how much I enjoyed it. <em>Is that strange?<em>**_Probably Oliver..._**  
>Rick shows us where the leaks are and proceeds to show us how to fix them properly. Almost two years of living in the apocalypse has made me and Carl expert walker slayers, but it has done virtually nothing in the subject of DIY. So what Rick teaches us is very useful.<p>

**Carl's POV**

We get the roof finished pretty quickly. The whole thing is covered in asphalt so it was simple to just replace it on the areas that were worn down or damaged. I climb down the ladder first and Oliver follows as Dad holds the ladder steady for us.  
>When I hit the bottom, a few moments later Oliver passes down the tool box to me and I set it on the floor next to me, and as I stand up straight again Oliver has landed next to me and is stood surprisingly close. I stare at him for a moment as Dad climbs down above us.<br>And that's when Oliver smirks and leans his face in towards me so that his mouth is almost touching my ear, "I've got an idea," he whispers mischievously, before stepping away from me to give Dad room as he steps off of the ladder.  
>A warm shiver runs down my spine and I stare at Oliver for a moment, worried that I'm blushing, but I think I kind of wish that he- No, uhh... never mind. I look away from him and shake my head clear.<br>"That should hold for a while… thanks you two," Dad smiles at both of us as he takes the tool box and heads back to the main prison building.  
>I clear my throat and avoid Oliver's gaze, "No problem!" I nod at my Dad, to which he waves over his shoulder.<br>I hesitate to look at Oliver again, so I just stare after Dad for a moment. I don't exactly know why I am acting like this, and to be honest it's irritating me. So I tell myself to grow a damn pair and just turn my head and look at him. Because it's not suppose to be this difficult. Damn it! How the hell does he make me so nervous? _Why_ the hell would he make me nervous? For christ sake, I don't care! What the hell ever!  
>I force myself to look at him and I make my dry throat form a sentence, "What's your big idea then?" I ask, letting my eyes roll in jest like they usually do when I talk to Oliver.<br>Oliver glances at me and purses his lips, "This way," he chirps, hooking my wrist with his index finger and pulling me in the opposite direction that Dad left in. He lets go of me and I pretty much stumble after him, still feeling my skin prickle where his hand was. _Focus._ I shake my head clear, it feels like I'm having to do that a lot lately.  
>Oliver and I go over to the second of the main three prison buildings. The whole place had been cleared now, as of a few weeks ago. But due to the layer of blood and filth over the whole place people aren't particularly willing to go inside yet.<br>"We're exploring the tombs?" I ask as Oliver tries the main door.  
>Both of us are trying to stay stealthy, as we're not exactly sure if we're allowed to be here.<br>"Yep… Ugh, the damn door's stuck," he grunts, as he tries to shove it open.  
>I look around and pick up a semi-rotted plank of wood that looks like it was once part of the door frame or something. I hand it to him.<br>"This should work," he says as he wedges it into the narrow gap that he has managed to make in the door.  
>He pushes his whole weight against it. But it hardly budges so I help him, standing opposite Oliver and pulling on the plank, grunting and contorting my face as I pull and Oliver doing the same as he pushes. It finally starts to give. Until the door opens with a loud snap. But, we over looked something. And so as the door swings open the plank plummets into me, sending Oliver crashing into me too.<br>"Gyahh!" I yelp as my back slams against the wall and Oliver falls against me, winding me and shaking my whole anatomy painfully.  
>"Shit! Sorry man," he apologises worriedly, lifting himself from me and taking my hand to help me to stand up properly.<br>"Ugh… it's fine," I wince, resting my hands on my knees as I try to catch my breath again, "Tell me… why we didn't… see that… coming?" I let out a pained chuckle as I lean up and cough, struggling to get my breath back.  
>"I <em>did<em> know that was gonna happen," Oliver tells me. "I just didn't think it would open that quickly, you're stronger than I thought. I couldn't stop it from hitting you like I thought I would be able to," he explains, as if he is apologising with a strange form of admiration.  
>I cough a laugh and nod, "I'll assume that was a compliment? Ah gosh… I can't breathe," I wheeze and cough again as my lungs feel like they are being squeezed with a big elastic band.<br>"Now you know how I feel all the time," he pats me on the back.  
>I nod, coughing again, "Y-yeah… Jeeze, I'm gonna need a puff of that stuff you gotta take," I joke.<br>Oliver purses his lips in concern as I continue to struggle. He takes my shoulder and gently pulls me into the building, "Come here," he says.  
>I follow him and he closes the door, before guiding me to lean my lower back against the wall. I furrow my brow as he pulls my shoulders down to a hunched position and places my hands on my knees. I don't know what he's doing, but I go with it regardless.<br>"Okay?" he says and I nod. So he continues, "Now breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, nice and slow..." he explains, and I do what he says, exhaling through my mouth and inhaling through my nose, my pace guided by his hand as he raises it and lowers it in front of my face.  
>I cough for a moment again, but after a little while, my breathing begins to calm again. When my breathing settles and my lungs no longer hurt I lean up and smile at him, "Thanks... how'd you know that?" I ask.<br>Oliver smirks, "How do you think? Noob," he pats his pocket where he keeps his inhaler, "I have to do that when I haven't got my inhaler to save me," he smiles like it's something that causes him no worry what so ever.  
>I breathe a chuckle and nod, "Right, got it."<br>Oliver smirks and motions into the building, "C'mon man, you gonna be alright?" he asks.  
>I nod and walk past him, leading the way down the corridor. "So, what're we doing in here... what's your <em>big idea<em>?" I mock a little.  
>Oliver fumbles around in his pocket and pulls out some batteries.<br>I furrow my brow at them and he places them in my hand, "So?" I ask, putting them back in his hand.  
>Oliver doesn't answer me, only rolls his eyes and motions me to follow him as he pockets the batteries, and so I follow him. We walk through series of hallways and small bleak rooms, but Oliver doesn't stop to look around.<br>"So much for exploring," I say. From spending so much time with Oliver over the last month; I have gotten pretty good at sarcasm.  
>"We're looking for a wreck room, or something... somewhere with a radio or a boom box... do you know if they have music rooms or whatever in prisons?" he asks, ignoring my surliness.<br>"Oh... Uh, I don't know," I say, before I walk in front of him a little, cocking an eyebrow at him as I walk backwards, "I didn't take you for a music enthusiast," I tease.  
>"Huh? Oh, y-yeah I guess…" he shrugs, before continuing, "It's alright... I just thought it would be nice to find something, you know? What about you? Did you listen to much?"<br>I shake my head and walk beside him again, "Nah... I was twelve... the only thing I cared about was comic books," I say truthfully, as I'm sure that with the ten months that Oliver has on me that before all of this he would've been into a little bit more teenager type stuff than me.  
>"Well then. If we find something, you're in for a treat," he says confidently. I smile and nod in thanks.<br>"So, what else were you into before?" I ask curiously.  
>Oliver purses his lips and shrugs, "Nothing really. I was just a dumb teenager, who fumbled around not knowing what I wanted out of my short and pitiful existence," he says matter-of-factly.<br>I smirk, "You still are Oliver," I joke.  
>He rolls his eyes and opens a door into a wreck room, "You check over there and I'll do over here," he motions to separate sides of the room.<br>We search the wreck room, in drawers, cupboards, supply closets, bookshelves; but there is no radio, MP3 player or whatever else that we could use, "Can't find one," I say glumly.  
>Oliver doesn't respond so I look up to where I saw him last, but he's not there anymore.<br>"Oliver?" I call quietly, no answer…  
>I walk across the room, bracing myself for him to jump out on me or something, "Oliver?" I say again.<br>"I'm here," he says. I sigh with relief and follow where his voice came from, leading me into the next room along. It's smaller and filled with old newspapers and magazines with a few sewing machines on the few rows of desks. I find him sat at a desk farthest away. He's found a small paper back book and has begin reading it.  
>I sigh a chuckle and walk over to him, hopping onto the desk and swinging my legs next to him. I read 'Twins' on the cover of the book, "Is it good?" I ask.<br>Oliver doesn't look away from the book to answer me, "Mehh… I've read it before, it's more for girls really," he tells me.  
>"Why are you reading it then?" I ask curiously<br>He puts the book on the surface of the table next to me and looks up at me, "Because... It's nice to re-live how I felt when I read it a few years ago."  
>"Well how did it make you feel?" I ask, tilting my head.<p>

**Oliver's POV**

I try to think of an answer. But I have no idea how the book made me feel when I read it before all of this.  
>"I can't remember," I say glumly, looking away from him and furrowing my eyebrows as I try to recollect. I have been trying to remember more and more things about before the end of the world, but it's more difficult than I thought. It's sad though, because I completely took advantage of it all when I had it, but now I'd do pretty much anything to go back.<br>Like I miss the feeling of total annoyance at my Mom when she would ask how my day at school was, I'd always dismiss her or maybe give a one syllable answer. Or when I'd get so invested in a great TV series and then feeling totally lost because I'd have to wait seven months to watch the next season... just little things like that. I miss them.  
>I look up to Carl and see the empathy in his expression, "Um. Whatever though," I say nonchalantly, refusing to take his pity.<br>I looks away and fiddles with his hands, "You can tell me… you know… just so you know," he mumbles.  
>I smile, "Thanks Man… but if you keep up the sap I'm gonna yack," I joke.<br>Carl scoffs and rolls his eyes, "Whatever Douche Bag."  
>We both laugh and Carl puts his hand on my shoulder and pulls himself off of the table, using me for support. He heads for the exit and I get up from my seat. I consider leaving the book here, but my hoarding habit forces me to stuff it in the back of my jeans. <em>I know I'll probably never read the book again, but I still want to keep it.<em> **_Yeah, because that's totally logical Oliver…_** _Shut up!_  
>I notice that the sewing machine in front of me has got a long piece of fabric that has been half sewn into a scarf; it's not finished and looks like a weird sock or something.<br>I have another idea…

**Carl's POV**

I amble through the wreck room, hearing Oliver follow behind me. _Wait, he's right behind me…_  
>I go to turn around, but before I can; my vision suddenly goes dark, "W-what the heck?!" I gasp, and try to pull whatever is covering my eyes away.<br>I hear Oliver chuckle, "No no, wait," he says. Surprising even to me; I do as he says and drop my hands to my sides, letting him continue to tie the bandana around my head.  
>I purse my lips, "So, what is this?" I ask impatiently and do a patronising shrug. I listen as he suppresses a sneer and I find myself grinning too. He takes my shoulders and pulls me to start spinning on the spot, "Oliver… Oliver! I'm gonna be sick," I try not to laugh as he continues to make me spin around in front of him. <em>What the heck is he doing?<em>  
>"It's a game. I used to play it with Pat when we were kids," he explains, and I can hear the beaming smile on his lips.<br>"What do I have to do?" I ask holding my arms out to balance myself and knocking into Oliver as he continues to spin me. I'm already getting too dizzy to stand straight if I have to.  
>Oliver stops spinning me and sets me straight, "Okay, so you're completely disorientated, right?"<br>I nod, "Yes. I'm real dizzy now… if you let go of me I'm gonna fall," I chuckle.  
>"Oh sorry, I'll let you get your balance again," Oliver gently takes my shoulders and holds me steady, but I can't stop myself from swaying slightly as my head spins.<br>"Thanks, how considerate," I use my sarcasm skills again, to which Oliver does a goofy laugh. I chuckle too and dip my head, suddenly feeling very vulnerable in my blind state.  
>"Okay... so I'm gonna let go in a second. When I do, I'm gonna hide and you gotta try to find me," Oliver says.<br>I nod, "Okay. What do I get if I win?" I ask, letting my competitiveness out for a moment.  
>I hear Oliver chuckle and I think he steps closer because the pressure on my shoulders shifts slightly, "What do you want?"<br>I furrow my brow, feeling the bandana move against my skin, "Uh... umm... Oh, if I win... you gotta tell me what that book made you really feel," I say.  
>"I meant it. I really don't remember," he tells me.<br>"Okay... then if I win, you gotta let me wear your beanie," I say.  
>Oliver laughs, "Ha! Okay, fine... but if I win... you gotta answer three questions about yourself," he offers.<br>"Okay. Sounds good to me," I nod, unable to stop myself from smiling like an idiot.  
>"Ready?" Oliver says.<br>"Uh huh," I nod in confirmation.  
>I feel Oliver drop his hands from my shoulders, and then there is only total silence. I stay stood where I am for a little while, wondering if he has even gone to hide yet.<br>I raise my hands and reach out in front of me, but he isn't there, "Whoa... that was quiet," I mumble to myself. _That's impressive, I couldn't even hear him walk away!_  
>I begin my search, stumbling clumsily around the wreck room and tripping over the corner of the stupid couch, "Oliver... at least make some kind of noise... this is impossible," I say. I jump when I hear something roll across the floor right in front of me, "Oh, jeeze!" I gasp.<br>I follow the noise, reaching out my hands to make sure I don't walk into anything, "You're so bad at this," I hear his voice behind me, and spin on my heel to face him.  
>I rip off the bandana and glare at him, with a smile curling the corner of my mouth despite of how annoyed at him I'm trying to feel, "How am I suppose to find you if you're so damn quiet?"<br>Oliver rolls his eyes and takes the bandana from my hands, "Try again. I'll show you," he says, but I narrow my eyes at him, to which he lifts his eyebrows, "Come on man... it'll be useful to learn how."  
>"Fine," I relent and let him put the bandana back around my head, sending me into darkness once again.<br>There is a short pause and I wait for Oliver to talk, but he stays silent, "You okay?" I ask.  
>I hear Oliver shift his feet, "Yeah... okay, uh... can you hear that?" he asks, referring to is feet.<br>"Yep," I nod.  
>"Okay, so just follow my footsteps," he whispers.<br>I listen to him begin to move and walk after him, but soon I can't hear him again. "Ugh. I can't hear you," I moan.  
>"Shush… Stop talking and stay quiet for a moment... slow your breathing and focus on just listening," he whispers.<br>I sigh impatiently, but do as he says, staying silent for a few moments and searching with my ears for any kind of noise, suddenly hear something move to my left; literally the opposite direction I heard Oliver just talk. I have to admit; his stealth skills are incredible.  
>Staying silent, I reach my hand out to where I heard him move, and jump a little when I feel skin. I hear Oliver chuckle, "Nice one man," he praises.<br>I realise that I am holding his wrist and I let go of it. "Thanks," I smile, imagining Oliver beaming at me. I lift my hands to the back of my head to untie the bandana,  
>"Here, let me," Oliver offers. I drop my hands and listen to him step closer, he moves his hands around my head and I feel him untie the bandana.<br>"I think I tied it too tight," he grumbles, pulling at the knot and jolting me.  
>"Jeeze, don't take my head off!" I laugh.<br>Oliver chuckles too, and finally unties it. But then, just as he pulls it off, he leans forward and kisses my forehead, pressing my fringe to my skin under his lips. My whole mind and body freezes and I draw in a sharp breath.  
><em>Wait! What? What do I do? Push him away? Yell at him?<em>  
>But, I realise that I don't want him to move away, nor do I want to move away from him. But just as I become aware of this, Oliver lifts his lips from my hair and removes the bandana. My vision returns and I stare into Oliver's eyes, suddenly feeling a tornado of butterflies in my stomach as I notice the tiny golden flecks in his brown irises.<br>I open my mouth to say something that I haven't yet thought of, but Oliver steps away, "Uhh... Let's go... we gotta keep looking for that radio," he says, avoiding my eye contact and furrowing his eyebrows unintentionally. He pinches his lips in his fingers, as if he is scolding them.  
>I look away from him and chew my lip. <em>What was that?<em> "Uh, y-yeah," I agree, rubbing my brow and feeling my cheeks heat up, along with the rest of my body I realise. _Oh my gosh! What the hell was that? Do guys do that? Why did I enjoy it so much? No, I didn'tenjoy it__… __did I?_ I force my legs to move and walk past him, out of the wreck room and he follows a few paces behind me.  
>We head deeper into the tombs but we don't talk for a long while, both of us silently processing what Oliver just did. <em>It's no big deal! I mean, I kiss Judith on the forehead all the time. Maggie kisses Beth and Hershel on the forehead all the time too. Like a family thing.<em> I realise that Oliver isn't family, but he might as well be. He's my best friend, and I care about him as if he were my brother. Well, maybe not a brother… well, I don't know. _I like Oliver, but I've never thought of him in 'that' way… I don't even know if I am supposed to think of a guy in that way. Oh, whatever. I just need to sto-_  
>"I win, remember?" Oliver finally speaks, causing my train of thought to break.<br>I look behind me and a smile creeps across my lips and I watch him through my eyelashes. But I look at him normally when I realise I'm not trying to flirt with him. _Jeeze, this is ridiculous, I wasn't flirting in the first place… was I? I'm not even sure I know how to flirt! For fuck sake,_ _just let it go already!_  
>I push my confusing thoughts out of my mind and respond to him, "Oh yeah… how many questions was it again?" I ask, feeling so relieved by the change of subject that I don't even try to prove him wrong.<br>"Three," Oliver replies, doing that fammilliar crooked smile.  
>I chuckle, "Oh… well now I'm scared," I say sarcastically, feeling surprisingly anticipation to know what it is he wants to know about me.<br>Oliver smirks and nods, "You should be," he says in jest. He stops walking, thinking of his questions, "Okay… Question number one. Tell me your favourite childhood memory?" he asks.  
>I don't even have to think about my answer, "Oh okay. We used to have a swing outside our house. Dad made it from an old tyre and hung it from the tree in our front yard. I used to always sit- well, lie in it. You know? Like with my legs dangling out one side and my upper body out the other," I explain, and Oliver nods in understanding, smiling at me. "Well, I'd lie in it like that and just read comics all day, or watch all the cars drive by an' say hi to my neighbours as they'd go past. And Dad and Mom would come and sit on the grass with lunch or whatever sometimes and we'd just be there, together… pretty stupid I know, by yeah. That's my favourite memory as a kid,"<br>Oliver smiles, "It's not stupid," he says simply.  
>I shrug, "Well, what's yours?" I ask.<br>Oliver purses his lips, "Uh… I don't know. Probably when me and Pat accidentally set fire to a mattress… it was in some douche-bag-farmer's field. It was suppose to just be a prank, but it almost caught the whole barn alight," he says.  
>I laugh, "Whoa! Did you get caught?" I ask.<br>Oliver shakes his head, "No, but it was close… the farmer came out while we were trying to put it out and aimed his gun at us… so we ran like hell and left the old fart to put it out himself," he chuckles.  
>I chuckle too, but my smile drops as I remember when I set fire to Hershel's barn, but that occasion was a lot less cheerful…<br>Oliver notices my smile fade, "I still have two more questions," he says.  
>"Shoot," I nod and let myself smirk.<br>"Umm… Oh, favourite colour?" he asks.  
>I shrug, "Whatever really… uh, blue or green… I guess."<br>"Alright… Okay, last one… umm…" he hesitates to ask his question, but I can tell that he has thought of one.  
>I cock an eyebrow, pressurising him to continue, so he does.<br>"Your first kiss, on the lips. Or your first girlfriend, or whatever," he says, trailing off slightly at the end.  
>I furrow my brow at him for a fraction of a second, but relax my face and simply shake my head, no.<br>"Really?" he asks, astounded by my innocence and lifting his brow at me.  
>I frown at him, suddenly feeling self-conscious that I have never experienced something like that with anyone, "No... I'd only just turned twelve! Of course not… and in case you hadn't noticed, there aren't many single girls with a pulse around here, are there?" I defend myself.<br>"What about you?" I ask, glancing at the floor.  
>To my surprise, I see Oliver nod yes out of my peripheral vision and I look up to him, waiting for him to elaborate, "Her name was Penelope, it was just a crush-friend thing. She was my best friend and it just kind of, happened... <em>and,<em> I was twelve too," he mocks me at the last part.  
>I shove him in the side, "Ass hole."<br>He stumbles a little and I chuckle as he rights himself, he laughs at me before speaking again, "Yeah, but we only kissed the one time. After it, we were just super close. You know?" he says.  
>I respond with a nod. I can relate; take my previous relationship with Sophia, we were really close, just like Oliver and Penelope. Sophia even kissed me on the cheek once, be me being so immature and stupid back then I wasn't impressed at all. But we never did anything romantic. I guess my friendship with her was just like my friendship is with Oliver. Especially after him kissing me on the forehead a few minutes ago. Just friends.<em>Right...?<em>  
>"Yeah, like me and Sophia," I confirm. Oliver nods and we start walking again. He knows about Sophia already, she came up in a conversation a few days ago and I told him all about her and how she died.<br>"Through here," I say as we reach a big wooden door. I wipe my palm over the label on the wooden surface and read 'Classroom B'. Oliver reads it too and gives me a hopeful nod.  
>We enter the room and see that it looks like an average school classroom. I guess that it was used to educate the prisoners who wanted to get more qualifications or whatever. There are computers at desks along the back wall of the classroom, and three rows of desks in the middle of the room. Strangely there is a couch in one corner of the room too, all moth eaten and covered in a layer of dust with a dried blood stain splattered across it. But what catches my eye is that there is a guitar perched next to it.<br>I walk over and pick up the instrument, finding that all of the strings are broken except two. I pick at them and smile when I hear the sound they make. I've never played guitar before.  
>I put the instrument on the floor and look up to Oliver, seeing him checking out the supply cupboard on the other side of the room, "Maybe it was a music room? There's a guitar here," I say.<br>"Yeah... I'd, have to agree with you on that..." Oliver says strangely slowly.  
>I furrow my eyebrows at him, "What is it?"<br>Oliver looks at me with his mouth open and a shocked expression on his face, "Oh man... Check this out," he breathes a chuckle as if he has seen the best thing imaginable inside of the cupboard before strolling into it and out of my sight.  
>"What the?" I mutter to myself in confusion as I walk over to investigate. I stroll into the supply cardboard and I have the same reaction as Oliver as I see what is inside.<br>Instruments. So many! I can't even name half of them!  
>"Whoa," I breathe, staring in awe at the varied collection.<br>"I know," Oliver says as he crouches down and picks up a small, circular instrument, with metal disk-shaped things around the edge.  
>"What the heck is that?" I ask, smirking at the weird shaped object.<br>Oliver pats his hand on the white leather cover and it makes a loud banging sound, and then he shakes it and it jingles as the metal around the edge bashes together, not the best sounding instrument I have ever heard.  
>"It's a tambourine, doofus," he mocks, handing it to me.<br>I take it and repeat the movements Oliver did to it, hearing the annoying jangling and banging, "That's dumb," I chuckle as he reaches up to the top shelf, rising on the balls of his feet to grab what looks like a tiny guitar. "What's that one?" I ask curiously.  
>Without answering yet, Oliver suddenly begins playing the theme tune of <em>James Bond<em>into it! When he finishes a moment later, he gives me a proud smile, "It's a ukulele."  
>I smile and nod, "Cool, where'd you learn to play it?" I ask.<br>"Patrick bought me one for my tenth birthday, I learnt a few tunes from youtube," he says. I laugh, remembering the old website, I used to use it to watch people play minecraft and other video games.  
>"Oh yeah. Look," I exclaim, as I spot what we have been looking for on a shelf behind him.<br>He spins around and smiles when he sees the radio. I pick it up, leaving the tambourine on another shelf.  
>"It's battery operated," I say, walking out of the cupboard and beckoning Oliver to follow me. I head over to the student desk that is closest to the couch and set the radio on top of it, crouching to look at it at eye level. "Hand me the batteries," I hold out my hand to Oliver and he places the small batteries in my open palm. I purse my lips in thanks and open the back of the radio, putting in the batteries and closing the radio again.<br>I switch it on and hear static, but I twist the tuning dial. Knowing that we won't hear anything out there, but I still just want to try.  
>Both me and Oliver jump when we suddenly hear a woman's voice coming from the radio, "<strong><em>*crrkkk*<em>**-anct-**_*crkkkk*_** for all... **_*crrk*_**-unity fo-**_*bzzz*_**-ll. Tho-**_*ccrrkkk*_**-rrive, sur-**_*ccrrrrkkkk*_**-nus. **_*ccrkk*_** -ry for all. Co-**_*bzz*_**," but then it goes completely blank.  
>We stare at the radio for a long time, before tuning to look at each other in unison, "Whoa..." Oliver says.<br>I gulp, "There are others... What do you think it was?" I say.  
>Oliver thinks for a moment, furrowing his brow in concentration, "It's pretty weak, it's gotta be coming from a long way away... Could it be that place... uh, Berrywood or whatever?" he tries to remember the town I was telling him about a few weeks ago.<br>"Woodbury... and no, it won't be... It's burnt to the ground now," I say, a little colder than I meant to as I think of the mad fucker that ran that place.  
>Oliver nods, "Well, wherever this is coming from, it's probably dead by now," he says.<br>"Why'd you say that?" I ask curiously.  
>"It was on a loop, she said 'for all' twice, and in the same tone... it's probably some refugee camp somewhere ten-thousand miles away that thought they could save everyone, but died along with the rest of them," he says, oddly pessimistic for the Oliver I have gotten to know.<br>I furrow my eyebrows and want to prove him wrong, but I know that he is most likely right. So I nod, "Yeah, probably."  
>"Hold on a second, I got an idea," he says.<br>I roll my eyes, "Oh no... another great idea? Don't hurt yourself," I smirk.  
>Oliver scoffs and continues across the room, and stops in front of a CD rack. He blows on it, disrupting the thick layer of dust and creating a big cloud which he waves away from him, but he still ends up coughing violently.<br>Worry sweeps over me as his breathing becomes wheezy from his asthma, "Oliver? Do you have it?" I ask, referring to his inhaler.  
>"Y-yeah," he nods breathlessly, and reaches into his hoodie pocket, pulling out the blue inhaler and quickly administering a puff into his mouth. I wince, for no good reason. I just worry is all.<br>His breathing settles, and he continues with his search as if nothing happened. I guess he's just used to it by now. I watch him wearily for a moment, as he rummages through the CDs, until finally he finds one he likes and grins at it, "This... was my favourite! It's a little old fashioned, but it's a classic," he smiles at me. I lift my eyebrows and motion him over with my head, holding out my hand for the CD.  
>He walks over and hands it to me, I read 'I Love To Boogie, by Marc Bolan &amp; T. Rex'. I have never heard of it. But I can see the anticipation and excitement in Oliver's expression, so I quickly put the CD in the radio.<br>watch?v=UI8rIzcOwro  
>A smile creeps across my lips as the song plays, it's actually pretty good. Oliver laughs at my reaction and turns it up, and pulls me over to the couch. He stands up on it and begins jumping on the seats.<br>"Come on man! Live a little!" he laughs.  
>I hesitate, but Oliver reaches down to me and pulls me to climb up and join him, "You're such a dork!" I laugh, as I begin jumping on the couch with him.<br>Oliver widens his eyes and mouth in his happiness, "Dork and proud man!"  
>We jump and laugh on the sofa for the rest of the song. I haven't had this much fun in so long. The song ends and I jump onto the ground again, wobbling a little as my legs adjust to the still floor again and trying not to think about my burning cheeks.<br>Oliver laughs at me and switches off the radio, and motions me to follow him, "Come on. We should head back before they notice we have gone," he says.  
>I nod, feeling a little disappointed. I don't want to go back yet, this is fun. But I know that he is right because we don't have long until lunch time. So we head back the way through the building that we came.<br>Sooner than I expected, we are back to the entrance.  
>I peek out of the big wooden door and can't see anyone, "Okay, come on," I whisper, and we both creep out and back towards the main building.<br>When we are a safe distance away, we walk normally again, "Oh, we should tell your Dad what we heard on the radio," Oliver says.  
>I shake my head, "No... He'll know we were in there... and besides, like you said, there probably not even there anymore," I say.<br>Oliver smirks, "Oh my god! Carl Grimes is actually going to keep a secret from his Dad for once. That's new," he mocks.  
>But he's right. I never keep anything from my Dad. It's kind of a personal pact I made with myself after Dad took my gun. I have just been trying to earn his trust back again, after I shot that kid when The Governor attacked us.<br>"Shut up," I tell him, shaking off my thoughts. "He doesn't need to know about this though, it wont make any difference."  
>He lets it go and shrugs, "Whatever man."<br>We go to the outside cafeteria and Oliver helps serve up some food. I wait for him and Patrick to be done so we can all eat our lunch together and when we finish, we play a game of soccer and pretty much spend the rest of the day goofing around together.  
>Oliver doesn't say anything about when he kissed my forehead, so I push it out of my mind and let it go. I know that it was nothing. Just a friendly gesture.<br>I'm just a little confused... I mean... Oh, it doesn't matter. We're good, just like everything else.

Notes

Thank you for the 2 favorites and follows! Very much appreciated! This story is on another site with 33 chapters already, so if you want you should go check it out :) soon the chapters will be on here too.

It is on The Walking Dead Fanfiction page called **Stale M&M's Carl/OMC**


	5. Chapter 5 30 Days Without an Accident

**Oliver's POV**

Another day of chores.  
>It's earlymid December, but the Georgian weather is still warm enough to eat outside which is nice. I'm in the outside cafeteria, helping Carol cook the left over venison on the grill, thanks to Daryl bringing it back yesterday from hunting.  
>Speaking on the man; he strolls over, greeting people as they bid him good morning, to which he looks a little surprised by. I go over to Patrick and help him serve some meat and vegetables onto a few plates as Carol and Daryl talk to each other.<br>"Patrick, you wanna take over?" Carol asks my brother, holding out the prongs to him.  
>He smiles and nods. "Yes Ma'am," he answers, going over to take the utensil. Just as Daryl and Carol are about to leave, Patrick addresses the respected red-neck. "Uh... Mr Dixon?" he says.<br>The man stops and turns to him.  
>"I just wanted to thank you, for bringing that deer back yesterday... It was a real treat Sir, and I'd be honoured to shake your hand," Patrick extends his right hand to him.<br>Daryl considers Patrick's offer for a moment, glancing slightly at Carol and then to me. Try as I might to stop myself, I can't help the smirk on my face as I pull at my beanie a little.  
>Daryl looks back at my brother, licks his fingers and then gratefully shakes Patrick's hand while I struggle to hold in my laugh, so I look away and focus on serving the food. I hear Carol chuckle as she walks down towards the yard, and Daryl nods to me and Patrick, before following her.<br>When they are out of ear shot, I look up to Patrick and smirk at him. "You're such a brown nose," I joke.  
>He scoffs and elbows me in the shoulder.<p>

A little while later Carl arrives from his own chores in the paddocks like he usually does, clutching a soccer ball under his arm. I smile at him, "We're almost done here," I say.  
>He nods and helps himself to some breakfast, not waiting for me of Patrick to serve him like we are suppose to, but no one is complaining.<br>"Michonne's back," Carl says, using his hands to pick up some deer meat and throwing it in his mouth, chewing while he talks, "she brought us some more comics. Said she wants to read some after us. Looks like we've finally gotten her into them now," he says proudly, leaning against the counter inside the kitchen booth area as he continues his meal. He knows that he is suppose to eat at the benches like everyone else, but he also knows that neither me or Patrick will tell him to go.  
>I smile in praise, "Awesome! Any new X-Men volumes?" I ask enthusiastically. I have managed to impressively collect volumes 1 to 7 so far, and Michonne said she'd try to look for more.<br>Carl shakes his head no, quickly swallowing his mouthful. "Sorry. Just; Hulk, Wonder Woman, Thor and two Batman comics," he explains.  
>I shrug and nod, before handing a plate to Molly and another to Luke, they both thank me and go to find a seat. As Carl eats, he talks to Patrick for a little while about some book that he is reading and I continue to serve people their breakfast.<br>"Dad's gone out to check the snares," Carl says a little while later, walking over to me now that he has finished his breakfast and speaking in hushed tones.  
>"Oh yeah? Are there a lot to check today or something?" I ask, a little confused by why he has told me in such a reserved manner.<br>He shakes his head, "No, but... he wouldn't take his gun again," Carl complains quietly, so that only I can hear him. _Oh, he's worried._  
>"Right, uh... Well, he'll be okay. He'll only be out there for a little while," I try.<br>Carl purses his lips and nods. "Yeah, would be nice if he could take this seriously though," he says.  
>I smile reassuringly at him and he sighs, bobbing the football in his hands.<br>It is obvious that Rick is trying to make everything like it used to be. He doesn't carry a weapon, and he doesn't go near the walkers unless he has to, and he forbids Carl or any of the other kids including me or Patrick to either. Carl likes to call it, 'Playing Farmer', and though he says it in jest, I can sense the annoyance behind his words.  
>I finish chores with Patrick, and we all head down out to the fields together. It's just the three of us today. I'm not sure where the others are, probably still having breakfast or something.<br>We play a game of soccer, just messing about. Shooting into random goals and goofing around together. Its fun and I only have to sit out for a minute from my asthma. But trust me; that's actually an improvement. Because it is winter, there is no pollen, so my asthma is usually a lot more managable.  
>We aren't keeping count, but Carl insists that he is winning. He's so competitive! "Goof!" I joke, grabbing his dark green shirt and pulling it up over his head.<br>"Ugh! You ass!" he laughs, pulling it down again, "Who's a sore loser n-" he begins, but stops suddenly, his eyes shifting to the court yard near the garden and he stares at something.  
>"What?" Patrick asks, and we both look over our shoulder to what has caught his eye. We see Lizzie, Mika, Molly and Luke all stood by the fences. It looks like they are talking to the walkers.<br>I turn to look at Carl and am surprised to see him storming past me, glaring at the kids as he walks in their direction. I follow after him with Patrick and I can see how frustrated Carl is.  
>"Hey Nick! Over here! Nick!" they giggle and wave at the lifeless corpses that relentlessly shoves them selves against the fence for the kid's flesh.<br>"You're naming them?" Carl barks.  
>They all spin around to face Carl and take a few steps towards the distressed teenager. "Well, one of 'em had a name tag... so, we thought all of 'em should," Mika says innocently.<br>I glance at Patrick and he furrows his brow at me, before looking to the kids again.  
>"They had names when they were alive. They're dead now," Carl says casually.<br>"No they're not," Lizzie tells him. I snap my head around to look at her, furrowing my brow too, "They're jus' different," she continues, like she actually believes what she is saying!  
>This seems to anger Carl, he shifts his weight on his hips and narrows his eyes. And Patrick and I know enough not to interrupt him when he is this irritable. "What the hell are you talking about?! Okay. They don't talk, they don't think. They eat people. They kill people."<br>"People kill people... they still have names," Lizzie retorts, raising her eyebrows and looking at him as if he is the dumbest idiot in the world.  
>"Have you seen what happens? Have you seen someone die like that?" Carl asks, his irritation building.<br>Lizzie looks him up and down, with a look of disgust crawling across her expression. "Yeah. I have," she grits her teeth and stares at him, and Carl returns the hostile gesture.  
>"They're not people and they're not pets... Don't name them," he warns.<br>Lizzie looks hurt for a moment, but she shakes it off and looks to the others. "Let's jus' go read. C'mon."  
>All of the kids walk back to the prison with her, except Mika, who stays where she is and waits for the rest to leave, before turning to us. "Comin' to story time tonight?" she asks Patrick.<br>He glances at me and Carl, before looking at her again. "Uh.. Yeah," he says.  
>Mika cranes her neck to look at me, "Oliver?" she asks.<br>Without a word, I quickly nod yes to her and nervously tug on my beanie, feeling a little embarrassed as I see Carl suppress his smirk.  
>Mika grins at me and Patrick, and rises onto her tip toes for a moment. "See ya then," she chirps, before following after the other kids.<br>Despite his annoyance a moment ago, Carl smirks widely at Patrick, teasing him for going to story time and I know that I'm next.  
>"We go sometimes. We're immature..." Patrick defends us.<br>I frown at him and hit his arm. "Hey! I only go because you make me," I argue semi-truthfully. But we both know that the only reason we go to story time is for Carol's survival lessons.  
>"You wouldn't dig it man, it's for kids," I tell Carl, as he chuckles at the floor and nods in a mocking manner. I glare at him and he laughs at me a little.<br>Patrick taps my arm. "We're gonna head up there too... Catch you later Young Sir," Patrick says.  
>Carl sighs and looks at me for a long moment, cocking a brow. "Yep."<br>Patrick walks away and I hesitate to go. _Maybe Carl should come along?_**_No! Don't tell him! You made a promise!_** _Hmm, you're right._ I hold Carl's gaze and a small smirk spreads over the left side of his mouth, waiting to see why I am hesitating.  
>I frown. "See you man," I say finally, pursing my lips at him as I decide against telling. I turn and follow after Patrick.<br>"Enjoy yourself," I hear Carl mutter under his breath.  
>I ignore his comment and hurry after my brother as he rushes to catch up to the other kids.<p>

**Carl's POV**

I spend a while back at my cell block, playing with Judy and reading the comics Michonne brought back. They're awesome! But after a while, I find myself debating whether or not I should check out story time like Dad told me to. If I don't, he'll only find out from Carol and get mad at me. So I might as well go. I can just see if it's a story I'm interested in, and if not… I'll just leave.

**Oliver's POV**

"The children fastened their eye upon their bit of candle and watched it melt slowly and pitilessly away, saw the half inch of wick stand alone at last, saw the feeble flame rise and fall, climb the thin tower of smoke, linger at its top a moment, and then..." Carol stops reading Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, because the man has finally left the library again, like he usually does.  
>I look at Luke expectantly, knowing that he will volunteer to keep watch, "Ma'am? Should I take watch now?" he asks.<br>Carol nods, "Yes Luke, you do that," she says and without a word, the young boy stands and heads over to the door.  
>I turn my attention back to Carol as she takes out a large, heavy looking box. "Today, we are talking about knives," she says clearly. I crane my neck to get a better view of the array of sharp blades inside. "How to use them. How to be safe with them. And how they could save your life-" she begins.<br>"Ma'am may I be dismissed?" Patrick interrupts suddenly.  
>I look at him furrowing my eyebrows and am shocked to see that he is very pale and sweating slightly.<br>"What is it?" Carol takes the question out of my mouth.  
>Patrick shakes his head and his eyelids look droopy for a moment. "I'm not feeling very well," he says and I see him gulp.<br>"Sometimes you're gonna have to fight through it. What if you wind up out there alone?" she asks. I stare at my brother as he gives her a shaky nod. "Will you just give up 'cause you're feeling bad?" Carol continues.  
>Patrick shakes his head and lazily shifts his eyes around the room, as if he is tired or something. "No, it's just... I-I don't want to yack on somebody," he confesses.<br>A few kids shuffle away from Patrick, but I only stare at him in concern. I know my brother, and he isn't one to complain about anything. So him needing to leave so bad means that he _really_ isn't feeling okay.  
>"Go," Carol allows.<br>Patrick quickly stands. "Pat, you gonna be okay?" I ask worriedly. He turns to me and nods.  
>"Y-yeah... I'll just go rest," he says, sounding very distant.<br>I nod, and watch after him as he hurries out of the library.  
>Carol begins teaching us again, but I continue to stare in the direction Patrick left in. But my eyes catch something moving behind the bookshelf...<p>

Ohh… shit!  
>It's Carl.<p>

His eyes meet mine and I see nothing but hurt and betrayal in them. _Oh no!_ I stare at him and he stares back. But now that his cover is blown, he stands up and emerges from his hiding spot. Carol sees him too and stops the lesson, staring at him as he glares at all of us, especially me. My throat goes dry, and I feel a horrible wave of guilt stab me in the gut.  
>"Please... don't tell your father," Carol pleads.<br>Carl glares at her and then shifts his eyes to me, glaring harder and I see his hands bawl up into fists. _He's mad. Madder than I have ever seen him, especially towards me..._  
>When I stay silent, the hurt in Carl's expression is so heartbreaking that it is almost unbearable to look at him. He spins on his heel and rushes out of the library, leaving so much tension behind him that you could cut it with one of Carol's damn knives!<br>I glance at the floor, but I know I should go talk to him. I glance at Carol and she seems to think the same thing. I bring myself to my feet and hurry out of the library after the boy.  
>I break into a sprint when I get out of the door. I can hear him rushing back towards C-Block. "Carl!" I call after him as I see his shadow turn the corner at the end of the corridor. I run faster ignoring my lungs protest.<br>I get to the corner and almost don't see him stood right around the corner waiting for me, with his back leant against the wall. I skid to a stop and stare at him, panting, and he crosses his arms not giving up the relentless glare at me.  
>"I... I'm sorry," I apologise breathlessly. Carl narrows his blue eyes and grits his teeth. I ignore my tightening wind pipe and continue. "Look, I'm sorry. But we couldn't tell you... it's important that we learn about this stuff."<br>Carl removes himself from the wall and bawls his hands into fists like before, but I know he won't hit me. "Well yeah, _they_ couldn't tell me! Of course they wouldn't! But _YOU_! You're my best friend! And you've been lying to me this whole time!?" he shouts, glaring at me with his eyes narrowed in disgust.  
>"I'm... I'm sorry," I mutter, looking away because the betrayal in his eyes is too much to bear. He sighs through his nose and I feel like an insect under his stare. "I couldn't tell you… I made a promise," I say.<br>Carl chews his lip and narrows his eyes at me. "Well I'm glad to hear our friendship means so much to you," he mutters sarcastically, making me feel heavy with remorse.  
>"It does! But I made a promise, Carl," I insist truthfully.<br>The young and irritated Grimes stares at me for an intense moment, and finally purses his lips, silently forgiving me a little.  
>"Will you still tell your Dad?" I ask wearily.<br>Carl looks back and forth between each of my eyes, and finally nods. "I have to…"  
>I purse my lips and nod in understanding. "I know," I say.<br>Carl looks me up and down, but I can tell that he is grateful for my acceptance. "I think I'm gonna go find him, you should go check on Patrick. He didn't look so good," he suggests and I nod in agreement.  
>We go our separate ways; me to D-Block to find my brother, and Carl to find his father. I can tell that Carl doesn't disagree with Carol teaching the kids, he is just being loyal to his Dad.<p>

When I arrive to my cell, still wheezing slightly but choosing to just wait a little while for my wind pipe to relax again, I am surprised to find Patrick led on the bottom bunk; that's my bunk, his is the top bunk. _Jesus, he couldn't even make it to his own bunk?_ **_He doesn't look good._**  
>I take off my beanie hat and drop it on my bed side table. I sigh, "Oh man... Pat… you feeling any better?" I ask, crouching down next to him and tapping his shoulder.<br>He opens his eyes, furrowing his brow at being woken up. _He's only been in here for a few minutes and he's already fallen asleep?_ **_Jesus._** He tries to sit up but winces. "What? Oh. Yeah, I'm fine," he says.  
>I scoff. "No man, you look terrible," I protest. I lean forward and flatten the back of my hand across his forehead, "You're too hot, Pat… I'm gonna go get Dr S," I say, shaking my head and turning to leave.<br>Patrick grabs my wrist from his forehead. "No! I'm fine… It's just a stomach bug… I don't need a doctor," he groans, rolling over so that he rests his head on my pillow but can still face me.  
>I sigh and purse my lips. Patrick is a very proud person. He has always hated asking people for help. I can see that he isn't feeling well, but I know that he will only refuse Dr Subramanian's help if I go and get him. So I relent.<br>"Okay fine. But I'm gonna get you a rag to cool you down," I insist.  
>Patrick lets out a frustrated sigh, but gives me permission with a weak and tired looking nod.<br>I grab a rag from the sink and wet it under the tap with cold water, using as little as I can because I know that there is only so much water we can use every day with the irrigation system that has been built for the plumbing.  
>I ring it out a little and go back to my brother. He frowns in protest when I put it on his head. "Oh, deal with it," I grumble in jest, pressing the cold fabric to his warm forehead.<br>He stifles a quiet chuckle and I can tell that the rag is giving him a little more relief. When he seems a little more comfortable, I take a seat on the floor next to the cot. "Carl saw us at story time… he was watching just as you left," I tell Patrick.  
>His eyebrows raise. "Oh crud… what did h-he say?" he asks weakly.<br>I sigh. "Well… he's mad. Will be for a while if I know him at all… he's gone to tell Rick now," I say.  
>Patrick nods. "Doesn't surprise me. Carl's got a little thing about telling his Dad everything," he explains, not in a gossip kind of manner, just a factual kind of way.<br>I furrow my eyebrows, "What do you mean?" I ask curiously.  
>Patrick shifts his eyes from the underside of the top bunk to my eyes. "Well, when I got here. Carl still had his gun and all, and he was a lot more reserved towards his Dad. But when Rick took his gun, along with mine and all of the other kid's weapons, Carl's been trying hard to do normal stuff like his Dad wants. You know?" he tells me.<br>I nod in understanding. "Yeah," I confirm. I knew that Carl has been trying to do 'normal kid's stuff' which is why he spends so much time with me and Patrick, but I didn't realise that he wanted his father's acceptance as much as Patrick has just said.  
>There is a short pause before anyone speaks, "I'm sorry…" Patrick suddenly apologises. I frown at him. "What? Why?" I ask.<br>"For what happened… for leaving you," he says, coughing a little and gulping.  
>I shake my head. "Don't be, you Goof," I joke.<br>Patrick coughs a laugh, grinning a little but it fades and he stares at me, guilt flooding his expression. "No, you were out there alone, for 5 months… I didn't tell anyone about you, or anything else about our life. I just couldn't… We lost all of our family, and then I lost you. It was my fault… you were alone and it was all my fault... I'm sorry," he hiccups, sniffing and wiping his welling eyes before tears begin to fall.  
>"Pat… I forgive you," I say sincerely, smiling with one side of my mouth. Relief floods over his expression and I realise that I haven't actually told him that before. I have never blamed Patrick for our separation. Not even when I attacked him the day I arrived. I was just in shock then and I only hated the circumstance, not my brother.<br>"You know I could never hate you - no matter how much of a pain in the ass you can be," I smirk at him.  
>He laughs weakly and nod, "Thanks, Oliver."<br>I nod, "Okay. Get some sleep, I'm gonna read for a bit. Wake me if you need anything," I say.  
>Patrick rolls his eyes and turns over to face the wall. "Uh huh," he agrees lazily.<br>I wait a few minutes for him to fall asleep again, before silently reaching under the bunk and quietly pulling out the fifth book in the Harry Potter series. I am careful not to disturb Patrick, half because I genuinely don't want to wake him, and the other half because he doesn't know about the giant stash of borrowed library books I have under here… **_Borrowed Oliver?_** _Yes! I will give them back!_ **_Yeah right._**  
>"I will," I mutter to myself, and climb onto the top bunk. <em>It's weird being in Patrick's cot.<em> **_Just hope he doesn't find your_** **_damn_** **_stash…_**

I read the novel for a few hours, almost done with it. I stop for a few minutes to go to the bathroom, running into Carl on his way into the block just as I come out.  
>"Oh, hey," I smile.<br>"Hey Oliver," he says, a little distant, I'm guessing because he's still a little annoyed with me about earlier.  
>"Did you tell him?" I ask.<br>Carl shakes his head, "No, he ran into some trouble with some lady out checking the snares, an' he's been talking to Hershel 'bout it for ages. I'll tell him tomorrow," he says solemnly. He motions into my cell, "Wanna read?" he asks.  
>But I shake my head. "Pat's still feeling like shit. I don't think he'd appreciate it if anyone saw him right now. I wanna keep an eye on him though," I say truthfully, "so, I'm gonna stay with him."<br>Carl nods, "Okay, tell him get better soon," he says.  
>I nod and smile, grateful that he hasn't held too much of a grudge from earlier. He lingers for a moment shifting his gaze from me to his hands, before turning and making his way out of the cell block and presumably back to his own.<br>I go back and climb to the top bunk, grabbing my flashlight as I go. "Carl says get well soon," I whisper, knowing that Patrick is still fast asleep. I dig into my book again, holding the flashlight in my mouth.

I don't even notice when I begin to fall asleep; dipping my head and letting the flashlight -which is still turned on- fall from my lips, along with the book as it rests on my torso.  
>But what feels like moments later, (which I soon realise is around 3am) I jolt awake as I hear coughing underneath me. It's Patrick.<br>"Pat?" I mumble, he coughs again and I hear him stand up. I squint in the darkness. "Pat?" I grumble again.  
>"G-go back-<strong><em>*cough*<em>**- to bed Ol-**_*splutter*_**-Oliver," he struggles.  
>I sit up and go to get off of the bunk. "W-what? Are you okay?" I ask worriedly.<br>He holds his arm out to stop me. "I'm fine. G-go -**_*violent_** **_cough*_**- b-back to bed, I'm going to just go -**_*cough*_**-cool down," he says.  
>I furrow my brow at him, but do as he says and I lie down again. I watch him for a moment as he stumbles out of the cell and makes his way through the cell block.<br>I listen after him for as long as I can manage, until my fatigue gets the better of me and I fall asleep again.

_He'll be fine._ **_Yeah, he always is._**


	6. Chapter 6 Infected

**Oliver's POV**

I wake up early.  
>Well... early for me at least. With my breakfast duties, I never usually have to wake up until around 7:00am. But I look over at my clock that is missing the glass cover and the seconds hand is snapped off and read 5:47am. <em>Damn it, this time shouldn't even be allowed to exist!<em>  
>I roll over and try to sleep again, but I can't. <em>Ughhh! Jesus! Now I'm going to be tired all freaking day.<em> **_Oh well, you might as well get up now. Carl will be heading down to his chores at 6:00am. You can go say hi._** _Yeah, sounds good to me._  
>I sit up and yawn quietly, stretching out my arms. I am about to roll out of bed, but suddenly remember that I am on the top bunk because of Patrick and I stop myself from falling at the last moment by grabbing the fame of the cot. <em>Whoa, that was close.<em> I right myself and lean over the side of the bed to check on my brother. But he's not there. I furrow my brow and look around the cell. **_He's not here?_** I quickly climb out of bed and poke my head out of my cell. _Maybe he's gone out already?_  
>I go back into my cell and dress myself, throwing on my jeans, grey top and red shirt. I brush my teeth and try to tidy my hair a little. <em>Dammit, I fell asleep with my torch on!<em> **_Oh yeah, where is it?_** I go to Patrick's cot and find the torch under the blanket, switched on but no light shining out from it. "Dammit, batteries're dead," I whisper disappointedly to myself.  
>I hear someone walk past my cell and out of D-Block and quickly pull on my trekking boots and beanie hat before strolling after the person, wondering if it was Patrick.<br>It was Michonne.  
>I follow her out of the cell block, smiling at the decorated pictures on the hallway walls that the kids have drawn, and a few that Carl drew also, like the drawing of the deer he saw when he got shot. It's beautiful as Carl is quite a talented artist.<br>I wait until I'm further down the corridor to call out to her so that I don't wake anyone from D-Block up. "Hey… Ma'a- Michonne," I correct myself, resisting the habit to call her Ma'am, as she told me to call her by her real name a few days ago.  
>"Hi kid," Michonne says, slowing down to let me catch up with her.<br>"Have you seen Pat?" I ask.  
>She curls her mouth down and shakes her head. "No, can't say I have," she says.<br>I purse my lips, but I know that he'll just be somewhere around so I try not to let myself worry too much. But I can't help being a little concerned. "Okay. It's just, he wasn't feeling very well yesterday… and, the last time I saw him was when he went out to cool down last night," I say.  
>"Oh, well I'm headed outside now. I'm goin' out on a run with Flame. I'll help you look for him," she offers. I nod. Flame is the chestnut mare, and by 'run' I have come to realise that Michonne really means 'a 2 or 3 week trip to look for The Governor'. Carl has told me about what happened with The Governor and Woodbury. He also said that the search for him went cold 4 months ago, but Michonne still won't give up.<br>"Thanks, he's probably just getting a head start on preparing breakfast," I say.  
>We head out of D-Block, into the outside cafeteria. But Patrick's not here.<br>"Do you want me to help look?" Michonne offers again.  
>But I shake my head. "It's fine," I say, peering across the yard and then into the courtyard, but he isn't there either. <strong><em>Don't worry Oliver. You're just overreacting.<em>** _I don't know. I've got a bad feeling about this..._  
>I force a smile to Michonne as she looks at me with a little concern, but quickly smiles back reassuringly.<br>I motion to Flame's paddock, "Do you want a hand with her?" I offer.  
>"Yeah, sure kid," she smiles, beckoning me to follow her to the pen. We walk into the paddock and I stroke the horses muzzle as she sniffs eagerly at my pockets.<br>Michonne chuckles, "She likes you. You got anythin' for her?" she asks, slipping a halter over the mare's head.  
>I fish into the pocket that the horse was so interested in and pull out an almost empty Graham cracker packet. "Does she like crumbs?" I chuckle.<br>"I'll say," Michonne nods.  
>I pour the crumbly left over snack into my palm and hold it out for Flame. She eats it greedily and I grin like a fool at the feel of her muzzle flapping over my palm to get every last crumb. I wipe the slobber from my hand onto my jeans and put the empty packet back in my pocket. Michonne shows me how to groom the horse, and when we finish that, Michonne teaches me how to put on Flame's saddle and bridle. I have never been around horses before, but I realise that I really like them.<br>"I'll teach you how to ride if you want?" Michonne says, as she lets me lead Flame out of the paddock.  
>"Yeah, I'd like that," I smile, patting Flame on the neck.<br>Just as we are walking over to the driveway, we spot Carl and Rick making there way down to tend the garden. Or, to 'Play Farmer' as Carl calls it sometimes whenever his Father isn't around to hear. I smile at them, "morning."  
>Michonne takes Flame's reins, letting me go and greet them.<br>"Hey Oliver," Carl smiles as I walk over to him, he puts his arm up and I high five him.  
>"Hey man," I say. Maybe he is feeling in a especially good mood today, or maybe he's just tired from having to wake up so early in the morning, but Carl laces his fingers into mine for a moment. I chuckle in surprise. I'm not indifferent, I was just not expecting it. At my reaction, Carl instantly lets go and clears his throat, and I think I see him blush a little as he looks away from me. <em>Is he… nervous?<em>  
>"Careful out there," Rick tells Michonne.<br>"Always am. Any requests?" she addresses me and Carl, "books? Comics?" she lists. I look away from the peculiarly-behaving Carl and smile at her as she continues. "Some stale M&M's?" she cocks an eyebrow at me, referring to when we first met and I pretty much threw a packet of M&M's at her and Daryl. It seems that neither Michonne nor Daryl will let that go, as they often tease me about it.  
>I smirk at her and nod yes.<br>"You two are the ones who like stale M&M's," Carl chuckles.  
>Michonne laughs, "Then I'll definitely be lookin' fo' some. I'll look for some stuff you like too," she tells Carl.<br>"I'll open the gates for you," I say, breaking away from Carl and Rick and walking with Michonne and Flame as they head down to the gates.  
>Michonne smiles at me in silent gratitude, before turning to look at Carl. "Hey, why don't you wear your hat anymore?" she asks.<br>"It's not a farming hat," Carl responds across the yard. I furrow my eyebrows at him in confusion and he smirks at me. _What hat? I've never seen Carl wear a hat. Well, except for my beanie hat, which actually suited him surprisingly well. I think that if Carl ever wanted to go for the hippie walker slayer style, it'd work for him._ **_Oliver, stop. Jesus!_**  
>I push the thought from my head and Carl purses his lips into a funny smile, lifting his brow to exchange an "I'll-show-you-later" look with me before looking at Michonne again. "See you soon?" he asks her.<br>"Pretty soon," Michonne says simply, continuing to lead Flame to the gates.  
>Michonne smiles at me and can't help but ask her what is still relentlessly nagging at the back of my head. "What hat?" I ask, unable to move from the mysterious topic.<br>Michonne smirks. "Didn't you know? He's got a sheriffs hat - he used to wear it everywhere," she explains, as she mounts up onto Flame.  
>I nod, imagining Carl wearing something like that and I can't help but chuckle. <em>I just can't imagine him wearing a sheriffs' hat.<em> I grin as I go over to the chain link to pull open the inner fence. "Thank you Oliver," Michonne smiles, nudging Flame to walk through the gate.  
>"Stay safe," I say, pulling the inner gate closed behind her. "Oh, and look to see if you can find any Wolverine comics - that's Carl's favourite," I smile, helping her on what comics Carl likes.<br>"I will... see you in a little while," she nods. I pull open the outer gate for her and Michonne asks Flame into a canter. I watch in awe as they ride off down the leaf littered road for a few moments, and then quickly close the gate again before any walkers can get in.  
>I walk back up the driveway, smiling and nodding to Carl as he does his chores with his father over in the garden.<br>As I head up, I spot Carol beginning to prepare breakfast in the outside cafeteria, but still no Patrick...  
>I quicken my pace and hurry over. "Morning Ma'am," I purse my lips, suddenly unable to smile.<br>She smiles at me. "Morni-" but stop, and her expression becomes concerned when she notices the worry on my face, "what is it Oliver?"  
>"Have you seen Pat this morning? He wasn-"<p>

**BOOM!**

I startle horrifically mid-sentence and spin on my heel to look towards the gunfire. It's coming from D-Block!

**BANG!**

_What the fuck!_  
>I look at Carol, and see that she has no idea what's happening either. We take a few steps out of the kitchen area, looking around for something to explain what the alarming disturbance is being caused by.<br>"Help! HELP! Please, come quick!" I hear Lizzie scream, along with more gunfire as she bolts out of the D-Block area gates, with Mika following close behind.  
>I run to them with Carol, and the two panicked girls fall into Carol's arms. "Th-there are walkers! Walkers in the cell block!" Mika cries. <em>What? Shit! Shit! Where's my brother!?<em>  
>"Walkers in D!" Glenn roars, taking out his machete and pelting over to my block.<br>I shuffle on my heel, trying to think a thousand things at once. _How did walkers get into D-Block? Has anyone been bit? Where is my brother? Where is Carl? How can I help?_  
>"What about C!?" Rick shouts, fear and confusion in his voice.<br>"Clear! We locked the gates to the tombs. Hershel's on guard!" Sasha comes running out of C-Block with Daryl and Tyreese.  
>"It ain't a breach!" Daryl growls, sprinting past me.<br>"We followed the plan!" Sasha says desperately.  
>I watch in total confusion as Rick spins on his feet as he watches his friends run past him, seeing the panic rising in him as he grimaces. But he sprints after the others and without hesitating, I run after him to help.<p>

We get to D-Block...

Chaos! Pure terrifying chaos!

People are screaming and wailing. I spot walker faces dotted among the living, making it almost impossible to tell them apart when everyone is in such a panicked state. I run behind Carol further into the block.  
>"Oliver! Get out o' here!" Rick yells behind me as he urges people out of the cell block, but I don't acknowledge him. <em>I have to find my brother!<em>  
>"Patrick!" I roar over the gunshots and screaming towards our cell.<br>A walker falls to my feet and snaps at my shoes, but before it gets me I crush its head under my foot with one blow and its rotten, decomposing skull gives in under my sole and brain matter explodes over the floor. I stare down at it for a second, adrenaline numbing my fear. _That was the first walker I have killed in months._  
>I snap out of my daze at Luke's scream. Snapping my head up to see another walker craw towards him and grab his ankle, brutally yanking him to it's snapping teeth. I kick it in the face, causing it drop the boy and fall away from him. "Luke, come on!" I shout at him, pulling him my his tee collar to stand as he contorts his face in terror.<br>The walker crawls on its hands and knees after us, but suddenly, a green bolt shoots through its eyeball. "Get back!" Daryl growls, picking up Luke and carrying the traumatised child over to a cell with Karen.  
>I am expecting Daryl to tell me to get in a cell with the young boy, and I ready myself to protest. But to my surprise he nods to me and quickly hands me a knife from his sheath. "Go!" he barks.<br>I do as he says and rush over to the first walker I see. An adult walker I recognise as a 32 year old woman called Lacey, with long, curly, blood stained hair, attacking another woman who lives next door to me called Allison, pinning her to the floor. They were friends, I remember seeing them eating the deer Daryl caught just yesterday, talking and laughing about 'the importance of feminism even in these times'.  
>I lunge forward and drive my knife through Lacey's temple and her corps falls limp at the horrified woman's side. I hold my hand out and pull the fear stricken woman to stand. "Alison, get in the cell!" I command, pointing to my left where Karen and Tyreese are.<br>Alison nods and obeys me, spinning on her heel to go to the others.  
>People's screams surround me, and I take out more and more walkers, until finally, the ground floor looks clear. I search around and run into Rick, he puts his hands on my shoulders, examining me for any bites or injuries. "Are you alright?" he pants.<br>I nod breathlessly, the adrenaline proving not to be enough to keep my asthma away for long enough. I ignore it, refusing to take my inhaler in front of Rick. I don't want to look vulnerable. "Yes Sir, I'm fine. Are you okay?" I ask, trying my best not to wheeze.  
>He nods yes, before addressing the others. "Are we clear down here? Are we safe?!" he roars to them.<br>"Yeah! Yeah!" Sasha answers, checking around.  
>I climb the stairs behind Daryl and Glenn, and help check the catwalk cells. Gripping the borrowed knife tightly in my right hand, I take every cell one at a time. Seeing a woman bit and dead on the floor and another man a little further down with his stomach spilled out over the railing. <em>Shit. How did this happen? I was in here less than half an hour ago!<em>  
>I pull back the curtain of the next cell along. But suddenly a walker lunges out of it at me. "Nyahh!" I gasp, as it catches me off guard and pins me against the wall, growling and hissing it snapping its jaw at my face, violently grabbing at my shoulders.<br>It's funny; when you see someone you know, who always wears a certain type of clothing accessory, like a hat, or scarf or a pair of glasses, you imagine them always wearing that item. As if it isn't an item of clothing at all, but more an actual _part_ of that person. Like an arm, or a leg. It's just always there. But when you see them without that scarf, or that hat, or that pair of glasses, it takes you a moment to recognise them again... I never thought about it like that before. But I do now, because that's what has just happened to me...  
>With every cell of my being, I wish it hadn't. But I finally recognise the walker that isn't wearing his black, thick brimmed glasses anymore...<p>

Patrick.

My brother. With blood pouring from his eyes, nose, mouth and ears. Glaring at me through red, glazed over, angry orbs and snapping his dripping teeth at me, spitting blood as he tries to tare me apart. Blood. Blood, spilling from everywhere.  
><em>NO! PATRICK!<em>  
>I stare at him, a mixture of cries, grunts and wails emitting themselves from my wheezing lungs as I try to shove his lifeless corps away from me. Disbelief. Sorrow. Loss. Despair. I don't know what could be the worst feeling in me right now, but all of these emotions suddenly amplify by an unbearable amount as a bolt from Daryl's crossbow embeds itself through my brother's skull.<br>It seems like everything slows as my brother finally goes limp and crashes to the ground, taking me down with him as I don't realise that I haven't let go of him yet. I fall to the ground, unable to control the chocking sobs that shake my whole body.  
>"It's Patrick," I hear Daryl sigh over my wails.<br>I grab Patrick around the shoulders and pull him to me and his head rolls back with his blackened blood oozing from the end of the arrow bolt. "P-Pat... N-no, no!" _He can't be dead! I can't loose him again! NOT AGAIN! Please! No, no! Not Patrick!_  
>I rock back and forth, cradling his lifeless body in my arms, willing him to come back. But then, someone puts their hand on my shoulder. I startle, trying to move my shoulder from under them, but they try to pull me to stand up. "F-fuck off!" I growl at whoever it is, falling back down to the catwalk floor and staring at my brother's dead open eyes.<br>"Come on Son... you don't wanna be here,." It's Rick. He puts his hand on my shoulder to encourage me to stand again, but I shove him away.  
>"Fu-fuck y-you!" I roar. <em>I don't care anymore!<em>  
>Rick tries again to move me and I fight against him. But he's too strong and he forces me to my feet. Tears pour down my cheeks but I relent and stand up properly. I back away from them, coughing and crying at the same time and not knowing what to do with myself. I lean on the railing and scrunch up my face, struggling to catch my breath as my hysteria begins to take over.<strong><em>Stop Oliver. You can't do this right now.<em>**  
>I struggle to take a deep breath and turn to face them again. I nod to them and wipe my eyes, but tears still fall down my cheeks without stopping. Rick seems to excuse my previous insults to him and he steps forward and pats me on the shoulder.<br>"I'm sorry... he was a good kid," he gives his condolences, looking more devastated than I have ever seen him.  
>I stifle a sob and nod. Sniffing as I wipe a few stray tears on my sleeve and wheezing again as I cough.<br>"Take your inhaler Oliver. You're not sounding too good," Rick tells me sympathetically.  
>I can't stop the cry that escapes my tightening throat, but I compose myself again and nod. "Y-yes S-Sir," I whimper, almost doubling over in my despair.<br>Rick nods and continues to search the catwalk with Daryl, leaving me and Glenn with Patrick's body in the cell doorway opposite us. I try not to look at him as I pull out my inhaler and take a dose.  
>"Why did this h-happen?" I ask when I can breathe properly again.<br>Glenn sighs. "I don't know..." he trails off and glances at Patrick.  
>I coax myself to look at his body too and hold back my sobs as I look at the blood pouring from his face at odd angles. But I furrow my brow. "C-can you see a b-bite? I... I can't s-see any," I hiccup, stepping closer.<br>Glenn noticed too and crouches down to Patrick's body. I am about to help check over him too, but I begin crying again and Glenn makes me step away to compose myself. I do as he says, and he continues to search my brother's corps. _What do I do now? Patrick is dead._ I have felt this before. Patrick as much as died all those months ago, outside of that store. But now... I can see him. Proof from my own eyes that my brother is truly and undeniably dead.  
>Once finished, Glenn sets Patrick down again and looks up to me. "He's not been bitten, and I can't see any scratches either... Oliver... he must've just died somehow," he explains tenderly.<br>I contort my face and bawl my hands to fists. _He just died? But, he said it was just a stomach bug..._ I stare wide eyed at my brother, and Glenn quickly stands up and walks to Rick, Daryl, Hershel, Bob and Caleb as they stand outside of a cell.  
>I see another dead body inside of it as I take a few steps towards them, but I am torn; I don't want to leave Patrick here. So to compromise; I lean against the wall, half way between the cell they are all at and where Patrick's corps lies. I listen to them talk, staring out over D-Block; the place I have called home for almost two months, but is now covered in blood and littered with bodies, including my brothers...<br>"No bites. No wounds..." Rick explains in confusion.  
>"The same for Patrick. Guys, I think he jus' died," Glenn informs them.<br>My chin shakes and I wipe more tears as they stream down my face. Glenn leaves the cell and walks over to me. He pats me on the shoulder and nods to me, before continuing down the catwalk and heading downstairs to check on everyone else.  
>I turn my attention back to the others, hearing Caleb talking. "Horribly too," he replies to Rick. "Pleurisy, aspiration."<br>"Choked to death on his own blood, caused those trails down his face," Hershel interjects. _Oh... Patrick, no._  
>"I've seen 'em before," Rick says, "on a walker outside the fences."<br>"I saw 'em on Patrick too," Daryl tells them. I look at my brother, bawling my hands to fists and becoming overcome with anger, imagining him choking and suffocation on his own blood and trying to call out for me as he dies. But I was too selfish to realise!  
>"Yeah, they're from the, internal lung pressure building up. Like if you shake a soda can and pop the top. Only imagine... your eyes, ears, nose and throat... are the top," Caleb explains.<br>_No! This is all my fault! He was dying yesterday... and I did nothing! NOTHING! I just slept while my brother slowly choked on his own blood. Scared and alone._ I wince at the thought of this terror happening to my brother and my legs give way beneath me. I slide down the wall to my knees, trying to silence my crying. I begin to gasp and dig my nails into my palms, squeezing my hands tighter and tighter in my guilt.  
>Daryl must have seen me, because he hushes Caleb at his accidentally insensitive words. "Doctor S... Tha's 's brother you're talkin' 'bout," Daryl scolds him with a tenderness I have never know from The Dixon.<br>"Sorry Oliver," Caleb apologises sympathetically, craning his neck to look at me.  
>I try to settle myself and take deep breaths as I nod. I keep my eyes closed, focusing on keeping my breathing steady as my chest tries to heave with my guilt and sorrow. <strong><em>Stop it Oliver. Don't let them see you like this.<em>**  
>"It's a sickness... from the walkers?" Bob asks.<br>"Nahh, these things happened before they were around. Could be Pneumococcal. Most likely an aggressive flu strain," Caleb explains a little more self aware now, which I appreciate.  
>"Someone locked him in just in time," Hershel observes Charlie's corps, as I'm guessing they found him inside his cell. I am about to tell them that he shut it himself because he sleep walks, but Daryl takes the words from my mouth.<br>"Nahh man... Charlie used to sleep walk, locked himself in. Hell he was just eatin' barbecue yesterday. How could somebody die in a day jus' from a cold?" Daryl asks, a little irritated.  
>"I had a sick pig. Died quick... Saw a sick boar in the woods," Rick says.<br>"Pigs an' birds. That's how these things spread in the past... We need to do somethin' about those hogs," Hershel warns.  
>"Maybe we got lucky. Maybe these two cases, are it," Caleb says hopefully.<br>"I haven't seen anybody be lucky in a long time... bugs like to run through close quarters... doesn't get any closer than this," Bob says pessimistically. But I agree, and by the short pause that seems to ring in my ears and across the cell block; everyone else agrees too.  
>"All of us in here, we've all been exposed," Hershel informs everyone, hopelessness and worry in his voice.<p> 


	7. Chapter 7 When A Brother Dies

**Carl's POV**

Me and Maggie help Michonne up the driveway, supporting her on each side under her arms. She's hurt her ankle on the snare by the gates. She was in trouble as she was coming back into the prison on Flame and I had to shoot a walker to save her. I know I shouldn't have used a gun, but I had to. It was surreal using a fire arm again. But if I hadn't, Michonne could've died. I just hope that Dad understands...  
>Just as I think this, he comes hurrying around the corner. <em>Dad!<em> Relief sweeps across his blood spattered, pale face as he sees me and I know the same has happened to me.  
>I let go of Michonne and rush over to him. "Hey... You might wanna stay back, Carl," he tries to warn me off, but I can't stop myself.<br>I envelope my arms around him, burying my face into his shirt and letting out a sob. "Dad I'm sorry. I didn't see you come out."  
>He rocks me in his arms for a moment. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm fine. Now back away," he insists and I do as he says; detaching myself from his torso and taking a few steps backwards. <em>I'm so glad he's okay.<em>  
>"I had to use one of the guns by the gate... I swear, I didn't want to," I plead, sniffing a little and trying to look as submissive as I can. He stares at me and I watch in remorse as a look of hurt and disappointment creeps across his expression. <em>Oh no…<em>  
>I ready myself for the scolding he is about to give me, but he is interrupted just as the words form in his curled mouth. "I was comin' back... I fell. They came out and helped me," Michonne defends me.<br>I gulp as I watch Dad soften his face and nod to her. "You alright?" he asks.  
>Michonne nods slowly.<br>"What happened in there?" Maggie asks him wearily.  
>A that moment, I turn to my right as I hear a woman walking from D-Block, cradling her dead child in her arms. <em>Oh no...<em> I look back to Dad and he looks devastated. _What happened? Please. No one else… please?_  
>"Patrick got sick last night. Some kind of flu, it moves fast. We think he died and attacked the cell block," at his words my stomach and heart drop to the hard gravel floor beneath me. <em>Patrick! No… He can't be dead. I was playing soccer with him and Oliver yesterday... oh no… no, no, no! Oliver!<em>  
>"W-where's Oliver," my throat tightens and his name is difficult to utter as I say it, fearing the worst answer as I struggle to balance myself, suddenly feeling horribly nauseous at the thought of loosing two of my best friends.<br>"Oliver's fine. But Patrick, he attacked 'im in there… but he's alright... he's washing up in our block now. He's mourning Carl… so give 'im some time," Dad tells me sympathetically, motioning inside of C-Block.  
>I sigh; overwhelmed with relief, but hiccup as tears well in my eyes for Patrick.<br>Dad leans down to me. "Look, I know Patrick was your friend, and I'm sorry. He was a good kid. We lost a lot of good people." Dad leans up again and looks at Maggie, motioning with his bloodied hand to D-Block. "Glenn, an' your Dad are okay. But th-they were in there... you shouldn't get too close to anyone that might've been exposed... at least for a little while."_This is terrible. One day. One day is all it has taken to send this place to hell!_ I go back to Michonne and clutch under her arm to help support her. "Carl. All o' you," he adds.  
>I nod to him, and Maggie and I help walk Michonne into C-Block.<p>

When we get inside, Maggie and I leave Michonne with Beth to get patched up, "Is Judy alright?" I ask her quickly, knowing that I can't see for myself because she's too vulnerable and I don't want her to get sick.  
>"Yeah. She's fine. She's having her nap right now," Beth says, helping Michonne into her cell.<br>I nod and I go into the common room and wait for Oliver to come out of the shower room. After a few minutes I hear the shower stop, but a long time passes afterwards and Oliver still doesn't come out. I battle with myself on whether I should go in and see if he's okay. But after more than 15 minutes (according to Hershel's watch) I am too worried to stop myself. _What if he has gotten sick too, like Karen or David? I can't let Oliver die like that… like Patrick._  
>I stand up from the bench and hurry to the shower room. I swing the door open and hear a shower cubicle door shut quickly and someone slump to the floor. My heart beat quickens, and the hairs on my neck stand on end. "Oliver? It... it's me," I whisper.<br>Their is a short pause, and I only hear his breath hitching.  
>"C-Carl?"<br>I sigh when I hear his croaky-from-crying voice in one of the cubicles further down and follow it to look for him. "Yeah..." I begin; I want to finish with, 'are you okay?' or 'everything is alright' but I know that it's not, and I know that Oliver isn't okay at all.  
>"Carl... C-Carl he's dead," he is barely able to keep from wailing, and I feel a painful lump grow in my throat.<br>"I know..." I hold in a hiccup, blinking away my tears. I get to the cubicle I can hear him inside of and lean next to the door, knowing that he can see my feet under it and hope that it can be of some sort of comfort to him to see me. I notice that only his beanie hat, gray top and red shirt are on the bench opposite his cubicle. I'm guessing that Oliver had finished his shower a while ago and must have broken down while dressing again, and then hid in the shower cubicle when he heard me come in.  
>I hear him suppress a whimper and I quickly have to wipe my eye as a tear escapes it. <em>Damn it. I hate this. Just when we let our guard down, the world is shaken and sent crashing to the ground on top of us. Why does it have to be like this? It's always fucking like this!<em>  
>"It fucking sucks. It all does," is all I can think of to say. My frustration builds but I can't think of any better words to console him.<br>Regardless, I hear Oliver let out a small chuckle mixed with another hiccup, pretty depressing but it's a start. No doubt he's a little surprised to hear me cuss. I listen as he sounds like he is standing up. I remove myself from the wall and hear the cubicle door click, before slowly swinging open.  
>Oliver emerges from the cubicle; red puffy eyes, miserable and only wearing his jeans, like I thought; he had hid in the cubicle before he could finish dressing. He stares at me with his eyebrows arched in an attempt not to cry again and I stare back for a moment, wanting nothing more than his pain to go away. But there is no way I can do that, so I tell him the only thing I am certain of.<br>"I'm… I know," I whisper. I wanted to say 'I'm sorry', but I'd be apologising for something I can't ever change.  
>Oliver nods and stares at the floor for a moment, until we both seem to move at the same time, wrapping our arms around each other into a tight hug. Oliver begins to cry again and I can feel his tears soak into my flannel shirt. I hold him tighter and my hands move up his bare back to comfort him, feeling the water droplets on his revealed skin beneath my palms.<br>His ribs shake as he cries into me and I only hold him tighter, letting him release all the despair that is eating away at every part of him.  
>"I-it's my f-fault," he sobs hopelessly.<br>I pull away and frown at him. "W-what? What is?" I ask worriedly.  
>Oliver shakes his head and struggles to keep from crying, "I-I should've done something! A-anything! H-he left our c-cell last n-night... he w-was already ch-choking! And, I... I did n-nothing... NOTHING!" he screams at me.<br>I step away as he doubles over, wailing and desperately clutching his middle. _How can he think like that?_ I stare at him and gulp. I have never seen Oliver like this, even when he arrived. He was nowhere near this broken. It's awful! I don't want him to feel like this.  
>I engulf him in my arms again, wishing with everything I have for him to stop feeling like this. "No… No you had no control over what happened today, Oliver. No one did… It's not your fault," I hiccup, struggling to stop the tears that escape my eyes.<br>He turns around and hugs me back, wailing into me and burying his face into my shoulder.  
>Finally, after a long time, his breathing settles to only a few hiccups a second and he can pull away without breaking down again. He drops his hands from my back and lets them hang by his sides, and I do the same.<br>I wipe my tears quickly, and watch him for a moment. I lift my hands, but hesitate for a moment, afraid of how Oliver will react to what I want to do. But I reach up and quickly pull his head down slightly and kiss him on his forehead. I let my lips press onto his skin for a little while and close my eyes, furrowing my brow for a moment from the sorrow I feel for him. After a moment, Oliver eases up and relax against me a little so I slowly move away, realising that my breathing has quickened. But I ignore it and study his reaction closely.  
>Oliver seems to watch me for a moment too, like he's trying to decide something in his head. "Y-you didn't have to do that," he whispers finally.<br>I relax my brow and nod. "I... y-yeah... I know," I answer truthfully, feeling my heart rate speed up, bashing against my rib cage as my frustration wells in my chest. I wanted to. Doesn't he realise that? I only want to make him stop hurting. I didn't do it because I think I owe Oliver anything. He's my best friend, and it's the least I could do.  
>Oliver sighs and furrows his brow at the floor, before slumping down against the wall and folding his legs underneath him.<br>I join him, setting myself next to him and putting my hand on his shoulder to comfort him. "Look, I'm not gonna tell you everything's gonna be okay soon. Because it's never gonna be, not anymore... and I'm not gonna tell you to cheer up, or that the pain you're feeling right now will go away one day... because it wont," I explain bluntly.  
>Oliver brings his knees up and rests his arms on them. He glances at me and stares into my eyes, the intensity building with every passing moment and his eyes shine from his tears.<br>I drop my hand from his shoulder and purse my lips at him. "When my Mom died... that's all anyone would tell me. 'It'll get better soon'… 'the pain'll pass'… 'everything's gonna be alright'… and I hated it. But the truth is... you need the pain… to remember what you still have. You can't let yourself forget how bad it gotta hold onto it. You need the pain to survive. Without the pain, you forget, and it'll only hit you harder the next time… The pain you're feeling right now, it only makes you stronger," I tell him.  
>Oliver stares at me, hanging off of every word I say. Another tear falls from his eyes and I find myself raising my hand and wiping it for him.<br>He nods finally. "Okay," he hiccups.  
>I give him a sympathetic smile and look out to the shower room, spotting the abandoned clothing in front of us. I lean forward a little and grab Oliver's beanie off of the changing bench. I sit back next to the distraught teenager, a little closer than before so that our shoulders press together. But Oliver doesn't move away like I thought he would.<br>I smile softly at him and pull the beanie onto his head for him. Oliver smiles a little in thanks and rests his head back on the wall. I do the same and we just sit like this for a long while, silently processing the cruel reality that we were so brutally reminded of today.  
>After a while, Oliver tilts his head and slowly rests it on my shoulder. I keep my head rested on the wall, but I can't stop the soft smile that tugs at the corner of my lips as something soothes inside of me, comforted by Oliver's gesture and only hoping that he feels at least some of that reassurance from me.<p>

Another few minutes pass and despite mine and Oliver's closeness, we are completely comfortable. So much so, that I think that Oliver is falling asleep. I honestly can't blame him, I'm exhausted too. But, Oliver has lost his brother…  
>I tilt my head to look at him, unintentionally brushing my lips on his beanie hat and few locks of his long, brown hair that pokes out from under it, but I don't move away. "Oliver," I whisper, moving my lips against his soft hair. His head lightens on my shoulder as he rouses from his sleepy daze.<br>He looks up at me and without even thinking about what I'm doing; I lean my head closer to him and Oliver does the same, gently nestling his forehead into mine. Suddenly butterflies erupt inside of my stomach and I close my eyes, just enjoying being so close to him and letting the comforts spread from the both of us to each other… _Should I feel like this? Do guys do this?_  
>I'm conflicted; battling with myself whether or not this kind of behaviour is… well, normal. I don't want to move away though. I just… I just want to be here for Oliver. I care about him, he's become family now. I know that it's the dumbest thing to think this, but I have never cared about someone like I care about Oliver… and not in a 'You mean a lot to me and I care about you' kind of way either. It's more than that, so much more that it confuses me so badly that I just do my best to ignore it most of the time, because I don't understand it enough to explain the way I feel. All I know for sure is that I want to be here for him, and I want him to stop hurting.<br>I let out a sigh, furrowing my brow as I reluctantly roll my head away from him. Putting an end to the intimate moment we were sharing. As I move Oliver lifts his head from mine too, sitting up a little more against the wall.  
>"I'm so tired," he croaks and struggles to swallow, no doubt because his throat is sore after so much crying.<br>I look at him and my brow arches. It's like I hurt for him. "I know… C'mon, you can sleep in my cell," I whisper, putting my hand under his arm and helping him to stand.

**Oliver's POV**

"I don't wanna sleep yet," I mumble. Carl seems to understand and nods, before handing me my top and I put it on, feeling my muscles protest as I pull it over my body. I give him a small reassuring smile before we head back out to the cell block.  
>"I… I'm gonna get something for Patrick's grave," Carl tells me quietly. I nod and watch him as he leaves the cell block. I sit down on the floor, leaning against the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the security deck. With my legs spread out in front of me.<br>I stare at nothing. I feel nothing. I'm just numb. After everything that has happened to me so far; my parents both dying right at the beginning, it was just me and Patrick, always. But now he is dead. **_Like the rest of them, and just like everyone else soon, including you._** My mind finds its way to Carl and I think about what he said to me earlier. I have to remember this pain. I have to remember how bad this feels and I can't let it destroy me. I squeeze my hands tightly, but wince as a stinging pain shoots though my palms. _Why do they hurt?_ I open them and hold them in front of my face, staring at my bruised and cut skin with four small cuts in a line shape, across each palm. _**I don't think you should squeeze your hands anymore Oliver.**_ I drop my hands, too exhausted to answer myself.  
>Carl comes back with planks of wood and a tool box under his arm, I put my hands in my lap so that he doesn't see the cuts. <em>I don't want him to worry any more than he already is.<em>  
>He smiles at me with half of his mouth and crouches down opposite me, setting the equipment down between us. But I don't help. I just look away from it and fight back more tears.<br>After a little while, I coax myself to help with what he is trying to make and sit forward. But I stop as I see that Carl is making a cross. "Carl…" I begin.  
>He looks up at me, just finishing binding the two wooden pieces together. "Yeah?"<br>I chew my lip and look at the cross. "Patrick isn't-" I stop, realising that what I am about to say will be in the wrong context, and the sadness jabs me in the gut, "uh, wasn't, a catholic," I tell him empathetically.  
>He stares at me for a second, frustration making its way across his fair and freckled features and I purse my lips in sympathy. He looks at the cross and quickly snaps it apart, letting the wooden pieces clatter to the floor. He sighs and moves to sit next to me. "I didn't know," he mutters.<br>I lean back and sit with him, pressing my shoulder to his like we were in the shower room. "Yeah."  
>Just then, we look up from our laps to Carol making her way down the steps. She smiles comfortingly at me, arching her brow. "I'm so sorry about Patrick," she says sympathetically.<br>I nod and glance away from her, feeling tears prickle at the back of my eyes again. _Why do people feel like they need to apologise? _**_It's a strange and pointless custom._**_ 'I'll apologise and everything will be better', yeah right._**_But, Carl didn't apologise._**_ I know... that's because Carl understands, he knows that it can't make any difference._ I have learnt that Carl isn't one for wasting his words. I remember reading something a while ago, I don't remember where from but whenever I think of it, it reminds me of the young Grimes.

_"__Wise men talk because they have something to say;_  
><em>Fools, because they have to say something,"<em>

I see Carl give Carol an expectant and irritated look, and I realise that they are still going to be a little tense from what happened at story time yesterday. He looks away and glances into his lap.  
>I watch Carol as she awkwardly fiddles with something on the bench. "Did you tell your Dad what you saw in the library yesterday?" she asks quietly, so that Michonne and Beth don't hear from upstairs in the bell block.<br>Carl looks up to Carol and his jaw tightens. "Nope," he says, before dismissively looking down to his hands again and scratching a little at his thumbs.  
>"Will you tell him?" she asks. Carl doesn't say anything so she steps forward, glancing at me before looking back to Carl again. "I have to keep teaching those kids to survive… you know that."<br>Carl looks up to me, deliberately ignoring Carol for a moment as he silently studies my expression. I try to stop my eyebrows from furrowing, but Carl already knows that I think Carol should do this. But I know that Carl also thinks she should teach us.  
>He sighs and brings his knee up to his chest, resting his arm on the top of it before glancing at her. "Did you tell their parents?" he asks, looking away again at his hand and rolling nothing between his index finger and thumb.<br>"No," Carol admits.  
>Carl turns his body to look at her properly. "Are you gonna tell 'em?" he asks.<br>My eyes shift to the two familiar and respected people, observing their silent communication with each other. "If I do… Maybe after this they'll understand, but maybe they wont. But I don't wanna take that risk," she explains.  
>"Then that's between, you and them," Carl says, and I can't help but frown at him as he reaches forward and begins to gather the cross equipment together.<br>Carol and I watch him for a moment, confused by his unreasonableness. Before she sits down at the bench and leans forward to get his attention. "No… it's between us," she says, looking at me for a moment and then Carl as he slowly turns to look at her. "If you tell your Dad he'll tell them… an' like I said… maybe they'll understand, maybe they won't," she says.  
>Carl frowns and shakes his head. "I don't wanna lie to my Dad," he tells her sternly.<br>She glances at me for a moment and I give her a concerned look. "I'm not asking you to lie… I'm asking you, not to say anything," she tries to convince him, reminding me of when she implied something similar to me a month ago.  
>Carl looks at the floor and sighs, but stays silent and continues with gathering the equipment, choosing not to respond to Carol through vocal communication. But his body language says it all; he has to tell him. Rick is his Father.<br>Beth begins to sing a song, no doubt to Judith who has probably woken up from her noon nap. Carol glances glumly at the floor, and without another word she stands, brushes herself off and leaves the cell block.  
>Carl gathers everything, the planks of wood under one arm and the tool box under the other, before finally turning to me. "I'm gonna go find him... I... I think he should let her… keep teaching you guys… I just wanted you to know," he says. Because we both know that Rick will probably stop Carol now.<br>I nod. "I know, Carl," I say truthfully.  
>He nods and his eyes dart from me to the floor, and I can tell he wants to say something else. But he stays silent and quickly leaves the cell block, looking a little frustrated. <em>It's hard to read him sometimes.<em>

A little while later the cell block doors open a little. "Psst," I snap my head up to look at whoever it is.  
>"Glenn?" I say, spotting the Korean leaning into the cell block.<br>"Oliver, I gotta talk to you. But I can't come in - don't wanna get anyone sick," he says.  
>I nod and bring myself to my feet, cracking my knees as I stand and holding back a wince. <em>Damn, that hurt.<em>  
>I walk over to the door and he steps away from it and I follow him off of the steps. He gives me a sympathetic look. "Here," he says and presents his hand to. I furrow my brow in confusion, but then I notice something in his hand. <em>Oh…<em> Tears well in my eyes as I see what he is giving me.  
>Patrick's glasses.<br>I take them and tense my lips, fighting back the tears that battle their way from my ducts.  
>"They're clean now, just thought you'd want 'em back," Glenn glances away, giving me a moment to compose myself before looking at me again. "I'm sorry, Man... he was a good kid," he says. <em>Just like everyone else.<em>  
>I sniff and wipe a tear away as it rolls down my cheek, feeling my sorrow and guilt brew in the pit of my stomach again, scolding me for what I didn't do, and what I could've done.<br>"Thanks," I nod and sit down on the steps, letting out a long sigh before talking. "What's gonna happen to him?" I ask, swallowing the lump in my throat.  
>Glenn clears his throat. "We're gonna gather all of the bodies tonight, and then bury them in the morning," he tells me.<br>I nod, staring down at the floor. "I'll help," I say.  
>Glenn shifts his weight on his heels and purses his lips. "Not today... I got the bodies for now. You need to rest. You can give me a hand to bury him in the morning, alright?" he suggests.<br>I want to argue that I can do it now. But I know that my eyes are red and carrying dark circles under them, and I know that I am completely drained. Emotionally and physically.  
>I nod, "Yes, Sir."<br>Glenn watches me for a moment, and a small empathetic smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. I furrow my brow at him, so he explains. "We had to clear the cells earlier, to make sure no one was still in there, an'... I found you're little horde under your bunk," he says, smirking a little but still being sympathetic.  
>My face drops. <em>Oh no, the books!<em> "I... uh- I'm... I was gonna take them back. I swear," I stutter, worried that he is mad at me.  
>He shakes his head and chuckles light heartedly, so I ease up a little. "It's cool, Man. I didn't tell anybody. I left them in a crate inside of the D-Block supply closet so you could go get them when you're ready. But, you gotta take them back, okay?" he says, clearing his throat again. He means his words in jest but I still feel guilty.<br>I nod. "Yes, Sir."  
>Glenn smiles and nods to me, before doing that strange throat clearing again. "Alright... See you later man," he says. If he wasn't possibly at risk of spreading the infection, I know that he would give me a comforting pat on the shoulder or something. I nod and watch him walk back over to the main building, heading off to another council meeting or something most likely.<br>I sit on the step for a while, rolling my brother's glasses in my hands and running my thumb over the smooth, black plastic, knowing that I will never see them on my brother again.  
>I sniff and wipe a few tears on my shoulder, when I look up again I spot Carl making his way from the paddocks. I notice Rick is still down there burning the pig pen, though he is shirtless for some reason. Taking a guess from the circumstances, I'd say he has had to destroy his shirt because it is contaminated.<br>Carl smiles when he sees me and I realise that he is wearing his holster and that it is stocked with his gun, despite my sadness a smile spreads over my lips at the sight of him. I appreciate that Carl can do that for me.  
>"Hey," he says, coming to sit next to me on the step. He notices the glasses in my hand and examines them for a moment. "Someone give 'em to you?" he asks gently.<br>I nod, looking down at them. "Yeah, Glenn... Your Dad give it back?" I ask motioning to his weapon.  
>Carl nods and pats his full holster. "Yep."<br>I wonder for a moment if I should ask if Rick would let me have my machete back too, but I don't say anything and choose to leave the subject for now. "He trusts you again," I smile at him.  
>Carl looks away and smiles down at the floor. "Yeah, I think so."<br>"Listen… can you help me with something?"  
>Carl furrows his brow and nods to me, "Yeah sure… what?"<br>I purse my lips, "I... I kind of... have been keeping some books under my bed. And, well, Glenn found them earlier and he's put them in the D-Block supply closet for me to get. I gotta go and put them back in the library, but... uh, there's quite a lot in there," I say, chewing my lip.  
>Carl does a subtle smirk at me and I roll my eyes. "Come on, Man... please?" I plead.<br>He nods with a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, course. I'll help," he reassures me, "uh... But, how many books are in there?"  
>I bite my lip and look away, 'around 30 or 40' is what I should tell him. "Uh... I don't know," I shrug.<br>Carl watches me and nods. "Um hmm," he mumbles, completely unconvinced by my anonymous answer. But he lets it go and stands up. "We'll do it tomorrow though... You're exhausted. I'll take the top bunk tonight."  
>I look at him and shake my head. "No, I'm fine. I can wait until later," I protest, feeling like a child at saying something so naïve. But I just feel like I have to do something, like a instinctive brotherly urge that pulls from deep inside the bone marrow of my spine.<br>Carl stares at me, examining my tired facial features and I know that he won't take no for an answer. "Oliver... you can't act like you're fine all the time. I know you could wait until later if you had to. But right now you don't, and you're just about ready to collapse... you need to sleep," he tells me.  
>I stare at him, astounded by how well he seems to know me. It's a little scary to be honest. But the sheer amount in which Carl seems to care about me and his genuine concern for my well-being is enough to bring more tears to my eyes. <em><strong>Jesus Oliver, how many more tears do you have?!<strong>_  
>I nod and look away from him, wiping the salty droplets that fall from my eyes and relentlessly stream down my face.<br>Carl steps forward and puts his hand on my shoulder, gently pulling me to walk with him up the steps. "C'mon," he whispers.  
>I sniff and walk with him into the cell block, and he doesn't remove his hand until we get inside, which only increases my appreciation for him; Carl, the prison and all of the people here… they're all I have left now, and despite loosing my brother today, I still have more people than I need that truly still care about me and I have more love and compassion for them all than I can ever put into words. They are my family.<p>

**Carl's POV**

Like I thought, pretty much as soon as Oliver's head hit my pillow he was out like a light. When he falls asleep, I quickly head down to my Dad's cell. There was something I didn't tell Oliver earlier. Dad wants me to give him his machete back and I thought that I could surprise him when he wakes up, to cheer him up a little.  
>I search behind my Dad's bedside table and find it led on the floor under it. I pull it out and take it back to my cell, wiping the thick layer of dust that had accumulated over the blade and handle. Silently walking over to Oliver and propping his weapon against the wall next to him so that he will see it when he wakes up.<br>I quietly tidy my cell a little, ordering my clothes back into their drawers and putting a few comics under my bed. All Oliver has brought with him is Patrick's glasses and the clothes he was wearing. He's fallen asleep holding his brother's glasses, tucking them under his cheek as he sleeps, so I leave them with him. I don't expect him to bring any of his own clothes back from D-Block for a few days, but that's okay because he can just wear my clothes, since were just about the same size except the few centimetres that Oliver has on me in height, but he'll just have to make do.  
>I look down at him, feeling so sorry for what he has had to go through today. He'll be broken for a while, just like I was when my Mom died. But I just hope he knows that I am here for him. <em>Jesus! Oliver's right, I'm such a fucking sap!<em> I shake my head and lean down to him, he's fallen asleep wearing his beanie so I carefully pull it off of his head and set it on my bedside table. I turn back to him and pull his blanket up a little more to cover him. _Yep, biggest freaking sap in the world..._  
>I quickly change into my pyjamas and brush my teeth. Before grabbing a Thor comic and climbing up to my top bunk, staying quiet as I lay across the bed and read for a while.<p>

It's starting to get dark, so I decide to stop reading and go to sleep. But just as I am about to roll over and close my eyes, I hear Dad return to the cell block.  
>He stands outside of my doorway, careful not to walk in or come too close. "You two okay?" he asks quietly.<br>I nod to him, but I notice the blood dripping from his right hand and I quickly sit up, widening my eyes in worry. "What happened?" I whisper in alarm, careful not to wake Oliver up.  
>Dad examines his hand and tries to flex it, but it must hurt too much because he winces badly. "I got into-… uh, it's fine, I'll get Hershel to look at it. Go to sleep now Carl," he says slowly, his fatigue making his accent more distinguishable.<br>I want to insist, but I hold my tongue and nod. "Okay… see you tomorrow," I whisper. He nods and leaves for Hershel's cell.  
>I would eves drop, but they're too far away. So I roll over to face the wall and let myself drift off to sleep.<br>But unfortunately, not for as long as I was expecting…


	8. Chapter 8 Light Reading?

**Oliver's POV**

_"__Dude, they're stale," Patrick smirks, grimacing at the packet of M&M's in his hand. I scoff and snatch them from his grasp, frowning in jest at him, "So? There's nothing better around here," I defend myself._  
><em>Patrick grins at me and I look around, furrowing my brow as I recognise the candy store from all those months ago… <em>**_Something happened here… But what was it?_**  
><em>I ignore my confusion before it can begin to worry me, and I stuff a handful of the stale candy in my mouth. For some reason, I can't taste them though… but as soon as I realise this I stop questioning it anyway, and throw another mouthful in. Patrick smiles at me, shaking his head in jest. I offer him some, and he takes the packet and eats a few M&amp;M's.<em>  
><em>"<em>_What are we gonna do today?" I ask curiously, checking both ends of the isle we are at. _**_It still feels like something is supposed to happen…_**  
><em>My brother shrugs, "I don't know yet… But we have to find you some more books for your cell," he tells me.<em>  
><em>I furrow my brow at him, "What? But Pat, we don't live at the prison yet," I remind him. Completely oblivious to how confusing that sentence was.<em>  
><em>Patrick seems to dismiss my remark and starts walking back to the exit of the store. I follow him, walking backwards and watching behind us.<em>**_Whatever it is that is suppose to happen… it hasn't yet… but, it just feels wro-_**  
><em>My train of thought stops and I startle as I hear a heavy thud behind me, along with loud, broken, clattering of small objects rolling across the smooth floor. I spin around, gasping as a wave of adrenaline courses through me when I see what has happened…<em>

_Patrick has collapsed!_

_"__Pat!" I yelp, running over to him as the M&M's roll across the floor around us. I desperately pull him over onto his back, "Nyah!" I shriek, clasping my hands to my mouth to stifle my scream as I see the thick, crimson blood, oozing from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth, spilling from his dead face._**_Like if you shake a soda can and pop the top…_**  
><em>I stumble backwards, gasping for the air that seems to elude me, "Pat!" I force from my lungs as tears streaming down my face and I feel my throat tighten. <em>**_No, no, no, no! This isn't what happened! This isn't what is supposed to happen!_**  
><em>But my skin crawls and my mouth falls agape, as Patrick begins to rouse from his fatal slumber. <em>**_No! Please!_**_ I watch in terror as he opens his eyes, revealing glazed over, bloodshot orbs that were once hazel and living._  
><em>His dead eyes meet my wide and terrified ones, and he lazily sits up, tensing and jerking his jaw in anticipation for his first meal, "N-no, Pat p-please?! Pl-please!" I beg, taking his shoulders and forcing him to stay at arms length as he shoves himself at me, growling and shrieking as he claws at my arms and rips into my flesh. His infected nails tare mercilessly into my skin and I feel the infection burn as it already begins to spread through my newly contaminated bloodstream.<em>  
><em>I wail. My sobs shaking my whole body, "Pat, p-please! Stop!" I beg again.<em>  
><em>"<em>_IT'S… YOUR… FAULT!" he roars at me, spitting blood as he forces the words through his growls and hisses. I cry harder, contorting my face and heaving with guilt as I struggle to keep him at arms length, but he comes closer, slowly edging towards my throat._  
><em>"<em>_I'm sorry! I-I'm s-so sorry!" I wail, gasping for air, feeling my blood trickle down my arms. _**_You deserve this Oliver. Just let it happen…_**  
><em>I stare into my brother's lifeless eyes as he snaps his dripping teeth at me, "O-okay," I manage to gasp as my lungs shake and tighten from my wails.<em>  
><em>I give him what he wants and drop my hands. Patrick lunges. He tares into my neck, ripping out my jugular vein and wind pipe and I wince terribly as he pulls out flesh, and begins to devour it… to devour me. The pain is unbearable, but I don't care anymore.<em>  
><em>The last thing I see is the satisfied glare from my brother's corps as he begins his meal…<em>

I sit bolt upright, gasping for air and choking on the terror caused from my nightmare, completely soaked from the sweat on my body and the tears streaming down my face. My whole body shakes and I cry hysterically into my palms, feeling the sting from my cuts as my tears make contact with the sensitive and pulsing skin.  
>I continue to wheeze and gasp for breath, failing to suck in enough air as I wail. <em><strong>Get your inhaler!<strong>_ I desperately reach out to the bedside table to grab my inhaler. But it's not there! I fall out of the bed, coughing and spluttering as my asthma attack begins…

**Carl's POV**

"Oliver!" I gasp, finally recognising the choking gasps and wretches as I realise that Oliver can't breath! He snaps his head around when he hears me, coughing and struggling to say something. _No! He's sick too!?_ I leap off of the top bunk and crouch next to him; holding my hands over his gagging form but hesitating to touch him. _I'll get sick too!_  
>Oliver holds his hand out to me, struggling for air and I am unable to stop myself from taking his shaking extremity and lacing my fingers through his; desperately wanting to help him, "Oliver. No! A-are you sick?" I pant, asking purely because I am afraid <em>for<em> him now, and not in fear that he could infect me_. I don't care if he does. I need to help him!_  
>Oliver shakes his head, struggling desperately for his breath, "N-no… Asth -<em><strong>*splutter*<strong>_- asthma… at-attack… My inhaler -_***cough***_- I ne-_***cough***_- need it," he chokes out. _Oh no! He's having an asthma attack!_  
>I realise that the stress of him seeing how scared I am is only worsening his attack. But I can't calm myself! I try to relax my contorted and wincing face and shake my head to compose myself.<br>"Okay. I'll go get one from the infirmary. I'll be right back, just stay calm… I'll be right back Oliver," I reassure him. He tries to speak but his lungs won't allow it. So he nods, gasping as he leans forward in an attempt to ease his breathing, but it's not helping him so he collapses to the floor.  
>But I know that there is nothing I can do to help him without an inhaler. I launch from my cell and out into the cell block, "Dad! C-Carol!" I yell, barely able to stifle my hiccup as my breathing hitches loudly. Not caring that I'll wake everyone in C-Block. <em>Someone needs to stay with Oliver!<em>  
>Hardly a few seconds pass before my dad stumbles out of his cell in his pyjamas, "Carl! What is it!?" he asks worriedly, running towards me with his newly bandaged hand outstretched. I shake my head, panic jumbling up the words in my mouth, "No! Dad! N-no! I-It's Oliver. He's having an asthma attack, just… just stay with him!" I order before he can reach me. He looks confused for a moment, but he quickly turns and rushes to my cell for Oliver.<br>I don't wait to run out of C-Block, pumping with adrenaline and sprinting as fast as my legs will carry me towards the infirmary. I don't know much about asthma, only what Oliver has told me over the past month and a half of knowing him. I wish I had gotten him to explain more. But by how bad he's struggling; I can't imagine that an attack would be much difference from the illness that his brother died from! _I can't let Oliver die like that!_  
>I rocket through the infirmary doors, crashing them open with a loud bang; pretty sure I have woken up the entire prison by now. I search frantically in all the drawers I can see.<p>

_Nothing…_

_Shit…_

_Oh! Where the fuck is it?.._

_Who the fuck needs fucking bubble bath soap anymore!.._

_No, no, no, come on…_

_Please! Where is it?.._

_There's none here!.._

"FUCK!" I growl. Frustrated tears well in my eyes as my panic increases, clouding my mind and making me stumble to the ice cold infirmary floor as I leap to the other side of the room to search there. But I scramble to my feet, ignoring my throbbing knee and frantically continuing my search.

_Come on, come on…_

_Nothing!.._

_Please?.._

_No!.._

_THERE!_  
>Relief seems to trample me like a herd of walkers, but it is soon clouded over with confusion. I rummage through the array of inhalers, there's a few brown ones, a green one, about 5 blue ones, and 3 red ones. <em>Which do I take?!<em>  
>"Gyuhh!" I wince in frustration as I fumble with the inhalers. <em>I have only ever seen Oliver use a blue one!But what if he needs any of the others?<em>  
>I just grab one of each colour and hurtle back out of the infirmary, sprinting faster than I am able back to C-Block across the courtyard, tripping over myself on too many occasions, but I don't slow down. I hear the fences sway and jangle from the walker's weight in the distance over the blood pounding in my ears. But I ignore them, continuing –still- in bare feet towards my block.<br>In my hurry I don't notice Beth sprinting towards me and almost run right into her, "Did you get 'em," she asks breathlessly. I don't stop running and hurtle around her, "Yeah! C'mon!" I yell over my shoulder.  
>"Carl! Carl, calm down!" she yells to me<em>. But I can't!<em> I crash into the cell block. I find Dad stood outside of my cell, looking down at -presumably- Oliver with a concerned expression on his un-shaven face. My stomach lurches to my throat as I push past him.  
>I freeze at what I see inside; Oliver, led in the recovery position and barely conscious, sprawled across the floor with his eyes half shut and mouth open in exhaustion. He tries to rouse, but Carol coos in his ear and strokes his shoulder to calm him and Hershel sits beside them holding a respirator.<em>What's happening?<em> My eyes widen and I don't hesitate to hand the inhalers over to Carol.  
>"I-is he gonna be okay? W-what's happening to him?" I ask, feeling my panic rise as Oliver struggles to move his head to look at me and I am unable to stop my hands from shaking and my shoulders tensing as I see how scared he is.<br>"Carl, you need to stand back… let Carol help 'im… you've done your bit, let her do hers," Hershel says, holding his hand out. I shake my head, unable to bring myself to leave, "We all got jobs to do boy," he insists.  
>I look at the respirator in his hands and gulp, before finally stepping back. My Dad puts his hand on my shoulder to make sure I stay away and Beth stands beside me, watching worriedly. I watch them desperately, panting and sweating from my fear.<br>"I'm fhuh," Oliver tries to say that he's fine to me, but he's too short of breath. Carol shushes him, hurrying to take off the lid of a blue inhaler.  
>"Oliver? Oliver I'm gonna need you to sit forward, can you do that?" Carol asks in a clear voice.<br>In his exhausted and air deprived state, Oliver barely manages a nod to Carol, "Alright, good," she reassures him, helping to pull him to sit up a little and tipping his shoulders forward to help his breathing, just like he did for me once.  
>She shakes a blue inhaler and brings it to his lips, having to hold his face up with her hand under his chin because he is too weak to hold it up alone. My face winces in worry as I see the gray tint in his skin from the lack of oxygen… he is barely able to draw in his small, shallow breaths. <em>Please?!<em>  
>Carol gives him a dose… and then another… and Oliver does his best to breathe in the sprays, wheezing loudly as his wind pipe protests to the help. It takes a few moments for him to relax, but finally, the medication does what it is suppose to and he lies down on the floor again, finally breathing almost normally. <em>Thank god!<em>  
>I lean against my wall, resting my spinning head in my hands and feeling Dad pat me on the back, "Well done Son," he says, praising me for collecting the medication so quickly. I am too relieved and exhausted to look up to him so I just nod, drawing in deep breaths. After what I just witnessed; I appreciate the constant ease of air that I have. I just wish that Oliver could say the same.<br>Dad, Hershel and Beth, all leave my cell to go back and sleep for the few more hours we have left until the morning. Dad calls out to the few other people in the cell block who have all woken up, saying that Oliver is okay and they should all go beck to sleep.  
>"Let's get you back into bed. You gonna be alright?" Carol asks a weak and tired Oliver, putting her hand on his back. He nods and sits up; with mine and Carol's help as we hold under each of his arms and move him back onto the bottom bunk.<br>"Bet you're glad I took the top bunk now, huh?" I smile weakly at him, making the most of the relief I that engulfs me right now. Oliver sighs a chuckle and raises his brow at me, nodding with a little sarcasm behind it.  
>"You two alright?" Carol asks us politely. We nod, "Yes Ma'am," Oliver says, quickly regaining his composure again and swallowing the taste of his inhaler away. I can't blame him; he let me try a puff of it a few days ago and it tasted gross, really bitter and dry.<br>Carol smiles reassuringly and looks at me, "Now, if he starts wheezing again you need to come get me straight away… okay? We don't know whether the attack was caused by an early reaction to the virus," she tells me in a monotone and I nod before she even finishes the sentence, "I will."  
>She nods and looks at Oliver again, "Oliver. Keep your Ventolin on you… <strong>all<strong>the time… you can't forget it, not ever… okay?" she tells him, giving him a strangely sympathetic look.  
>"Yes Ma'am," he nods and puts the blue inhaler into his pocket. Carol nods, before walking out of my cell and to her own upstairs.<br>I watch Oliver for a moment as he focuses on his breathing, taking deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth. I cross my arms and lean against the wall opposite him, "It isn't the sickness," he whispers to me, looking up and holding my gaze.  
>I nod and purse my lips, a little relieved of how sure he is with his statement actually, "What triggered it then?" I ask.<br>Oliver looks to the floor and furrows his brow, "It was just a bad dream… stress induced, you know?" he tells me glumly. I chew my lip. _Must've been some bad dream to almost suffocate him…_ I hold my tongue and nod in understanding, before pulling myself off the wall and joining him; sitting beside him on the bottom bunk and fiddling with my hands.  
>"You're okay now though?" I ask nonchalantly, looking down at the floor. I see him nod out of my peripheral vision and he watches me for a moment, studying my expression; which I know is still a little tense from concern. I look at him, staring at the golden flecks in his brown irises and feeling those damn butterflies again… <em>Stop. Stop it Carl!<em>  
>"W-what was your nightmare?" I ask, forcing my mind to change the topic that I am unwillingly thinking about. He breaks our eye contacts and furrows his brow at the floor, "It doesn't matter," he mutters, rubbing his eyes and sighing a little.<br>I purse my lips, knowing full well that he is lying. But I take the hint, "Okay… I'm… I'm gonna go back to bed, you gonna be alright?" I say, to which Oliver gives me a small reassuring smile and nods.  
>I climb up to the top bunk again and bury myself under my cold blankets. Just as I am beginning to fall asleep, I hear Oliver's voice, "Carl?" he whispers, startling me for a moment; thinking that he was struggling again, but his voice is relaxed and quiet, with a kind to tentativeness that I haven't heard from him before. <em>Maybe it's just because he is tired?<em>  
>I relax again, "Uh huh," I mumble, beginning to drift off to sleep again because he takes a moment to answer.<br>"Thanks for earlier Man," he whispers. I smile into my pillow, "You're welcome, _Man_," I say, teasing him a little for the nick name he uses for me. But, I like it when he calls me that, it's definitely better than Dude.  
>I pull my hand out from under my blanket and let it fall over the side of the bed, hanging loosely beneath me. I don't think I am doing it for any reason in particular, but I slowly realise that there is a small part of me that wishes Oliver would take it… I don't expect him to do so, and I just play off the gesture as a casual lazy action.<br>But to my complete awe, I feel Oliver slide his hand into my own, weaving his fingers into mine. The butterflies erupt in my stomach and for a nice moment, he delicately squeezes my fingers between his own and then lets me go. I draw my hand back up to my chest, unable to stop the wide smile on my face and I scrunch it up in my attempt to.  
>I roll over to face the wall, still unable to soften the relentless and ridiculous grin on my face and we both fall asleep within minutes.<p>

~

I wake up to silence. No Dad telling me to do my chores. No wheezing or coughing from Oliver. I just open my eyes and blink away the sleep. I glance at the broken off watch face on my bedside table and only just manage to read from this distance that it has just gone 6:30 in the morning.  
>I lazily lean over the bed, only to find the bottom bunk empty, "Oliver?" I groan; my throat dry from unintentionally sleeping with my mouth open.<br>When I hear no answer and my cell stays silent, I sit up quickly; worry working its way into my mind again, especially after what happened to Oliver last night, "Oliver?" I say again.

No answer…

I climb down from the top bunk and lean out of my cell to see Beth cooing to Judith on the floor a few cells down, a safe distance away, "Hey, where's Oliver? And, everyone else?" I ask, trying to be nonchalant as I notice Tyreese's, Dad's and Daryl's absences.  
>Beth gives me a saddened look, "Oliver's helping to dig Patrick's grave… Everyone else is preparing for a run to get medicine for the sick, but your Dad's not going…" she explains, readjusting my sister on her folded knees. Judith reaches out for me, babbling excitedly as she is expecting me to greet her like I do every day, but I force myself to resist… 5 more people got sick yesterday so she may be even more at risk. "Carl?" Beth adds and I nod in response, furrowing my brow.<br>"Karen and David… they were killed… last night," she says tenderly. My face drops. _Oh no!_  
>"Do they know who did it?" I ask dryly, Beth shakes her head no. <em>There's still a murderer running around then…<em> I nod and without another word, I go back into my cell, unintentionally scowling as I process everything that Beth has just told me. I dress quickly and brush my teeth, choosing to have a shower later because I need to find everyone. I notice that my green top and denim shirt are gone; I'm guessing that Oliver is using them. His machete is still propped against the wall though, so I guess that he didn't see it.  
>I buckle on my holster around my waist and right leg, checking that my gun is loaded and that the safety is on, before heading out of the cell block to find someone. Hopefully Oliver first because I want to make sure he is okay.<p>

**Oliver's POV**

I am just finishing refilling Patrick's grave. Tears drip from my eyes occasionally, but I do well to quickly wipe them away and get on with my task. I glance over at his thick brimmed glasses hanging from the post on a small nail opposite me. I walk over to it, readjusting the bandana more comfortably around my mouth and taking the sentimental object from the post.  
>Maggie and Glenn exchange saddened looks with each other as they proceed with the other graves; along with the increasing number of people getting sick and the two murders last night, I know that on top of it all, Glenn and Maggie are dreading it if I break down crying again, so I am trying hard to keep myself together. I know that they understand and won't be mad if I do cry, but I hate making things more difficult than they need to be.<br>I pick up the stone slab that was propped against the dead tree. I found the unusually large and flat rock by the fence closest to the creek, it was just lying outside of the prison beside the running water, and Carol was humane enough to go and collect it for me. Since my brother wasn't religious in anyway, (much like me and the rest of our family before this) this was the nicest thing I could find for him to put over his grave. I wanted something ageless. Something timeless. Something that had seen everything and is still here today. Something constant, to stay with my brother. I figured a rock suits that description better than anything anymore… and it's the best we have.  
>I leave the glasses wedged just next to the stone slab, securely held between the earth and rock, "Bye Pat," I mumble to myself, "I'm sorry…" I feel my guilt pang in my chest and I look up to the sky, taking deep breaths to stop my tears.<br>"It's not your fault."  
>I startle at Carl's whisper. <em>I didn't even hear him come over.<em> As I look at him; lowering my head again, the tears I was fighting so hard to keep back win with the help of gravity. I quickly wipe them away, feeling a few stray tears soak into the bandana.  
>I pull the cloth from my mouth and take off my protective gloves, avoiding Carl's concerned glances for a moment. Waiting until I can look at him and fake a convincing enough smile. I purse my lips and coax them into a curve, but Carl's not convinced. <em>Dammit.<em>  
>He squares up with me and dips his head, holding my eye contact, "It wasn't your fault," he says again; narrowing his eyes to squint from the sun and pursing his lips. I look away from him, unable to bear his electric blue orbs as they bore into my brown.<br>I grit my teeth and argue with him inside of my head. _Yes it was! Patrick could have lived… if I had just been a better brother! If I had just noticed him choking to death on his own blood... I deserved what happened to me last night, and it should have killed me. But you saved me, and now I own you my life as well! But it's something I will never be able to repay you! Not ever! You are the last thing I have now! You and the prison. You and our family here… and it terrifies me to death to think that you could die at any moment, just like everyone else!_  
>I wish Carl could understand this. I wish I had the freaking balls to say it. But I keep my mouth firmly shut and my brow knitted into a frown. He puts his hand on my shoulder, "I know," he whispers, with such surety that I can't help but believe him.<br>I look up at him, examining his expression. Carl has his demons too. I only know the few things about his past that he has told me, and I don't ask or push the subjects because I want him to tell me when he feels comfortable. But I see the way people talk to him and behave around him, especially his original group; they respect him, they talk to him like an adult and they see him as no less. The only person who seems to think of Carl as a kid is his father, and I know that it hurts him.  
>I nod, swallowing my dry throat, "We should go get the books," I suggest, changing the subject. Carl nods, taking my hint. I remove the bandana and leave it and the protective gloves with Glenn and Maggie. They thank me and I head over to D-Block with Carl walking beside me.<br>The supply run to get the medication from the veterinary hospital is getting ready to leave right now. They are taking Zach's car. He died on the run to Big Spot the day before last, and I only found out this morning from Maggie. Beth must be devastated, although she seemed alright this morning when I saw her.  
>Me and Carl casually walk the long way around to D-Block, careful not to let anyone see us enter. According to Glenn; because the books were under my bunk and hadn't been touched by anyone else, he thinks it'll be alright to take them back to the library without putting anyone at risk. I am a little sceptical, but he assured me.<br>I hesitate to go in, pursing my lips at the big metal doors that once led the way to my home. Carl looks back at me and gives me a half smile to comfort me.  
>I rub the back of my neck. <em><strong>Come on Oliver, let's just do this. Patrick isn't in there anymore.<strong>_  
>"Okay," I mutter to myself, following Carl inside. We head down the corridor, the place is clean in this area, but we both know that just down the corridor; it is all still covered with blood and gore. I'm sure the whole place is also crawling with the virus too, so Carl and I are careful not to touch anything unless we have to.<br>"Here," I say, pointing to the supply closet. Carl almost walks past it, seeing as he has never really looked for it before and didn't know that it was there. I pull the door open and sure enough, my books- I mean, the library books are set neatly on the floor in a wooden crate.  
>Carl gasps as he sees them and lets out something between a scoff and a shocked laugh, "Jesus! There's gotta be at least 30 here! You know, it's called 'light reading' for a reason," he jokes, reaching down and grabbing 'Under The Dome' by Stephen King. I roll my eyes and playfully snatch the 1000 page novel from his hands, since it has taken two for him to hold it open.<br>"That sarcasms gonna get you into trouble one day," I retort, fighting the smirk on my lips as I plop it back into the crate.  
>Carl chuckles at me, "Never stopped <em>you<em>," he says cockily, remarking to how sarcastic I can be sometimes. I let out a small laugh. But the constant reminder of where we are, along with the faint smell of damp and iron from the blood; is enough to dampen our spirits again.  
>I step into the closet, Carl following behind, "You take this side and I'll get the other," he says a little quietly, sensing my worsening mood.<br>We pick up the crate, "Whoa… it's heavy," the young Grimes complains. It's true; it turns out that carrying pretty much half of a tree can be quite straining. I simply grunt in agreement and we make our way out of the closet, struggling to manoeuvre our bodies out of the door, so I go first and Carl hoists the crate behind.  
>Seeing as a lot more people have gotten sick now, we are able to get to the library with only running into one elderly man named Jeffrey, but he doesn't bat an eyelid at us so we just casually bid him good morning and continued on our way. But as we pass him, we notice him do that strange throat clearing thing, just like Glenn did…<br>I exchange a worried look with Carl, but he shakes it off and mutters for us to get going.

We arrive at the library and make good time putting all of the books back into their correct genres, and when we do finish I am reluctant to part with all of the great works, lingering over all the bookshelves.  
>"Let it go Oliver, they'll always be in here," Carl encourages me, suppressing a smirk at my strange quirk. I sigh and thumb the spine of 'The Haunting of Hill House' as it sits in its slot on the bookshelf in front of me. I finished reading it last week but I am still in love with the horror story that it beholds.<br>Carl picks it up, taking his time to read the blurb and glancing at me through his eyelashes every few seconds. I expect him to put it back and make some snide comment about how weird I am. But to my shock, he steps closer to me. I watch in confusion as he lifts the front of my shirt up and pulls at the hem of my pants, nonchalantly stuffing the paperback into the gap between my boxers and jeans, as if this kind of thing wouldn't be at all surprising to me. _I mean, not that I am doing anything to stop him…_  
>I try my best to hide the shiver that runs up my spine as Carl's cold fingers graze over my hip, but I can only do so much as my abdomen involuntarily twitches. I awkwardly furrow my eyebrows at him, but once he has finished wedging the book into my clothes, he just lets go of me and chuckles at my reaction, "There, keep that one… might manage to satisfy your book fetish," he says coolly. <em>Wait! <em>**_What the fuck!?_**  
>I involuntarily make a noise, kind of if you mixed a squeak and a scoff, shocked by his false accusation, "What?! I-I don't have a damn book fetish! Jeeze, how do you even know about that stuff?" I ask, frowning at him defensively. Pulling my shirt over the book a little more and ignoring the warm tingle that lingers on my skin, left over from Carl's accidental touch.<em>Jesus, this is so- I don't know…<em>  
>He snorts a laugh, "There's more than just fiction and horror in this library you know," he tells me, suppressing a nervous smile as he steps away again. My mouth curls up and I can't help but grin madly at him, shaking my head in jest. I'm pretty sure that by 'more than just fiction and horror', Carl means erotic novels, and porn that he has found stashed someplace in here by some of the old prisoners…<br>"Come on man," I giggle like a child, taking his shoulder and gently pulling him to leave the library with me. _Having the book under my belt does actually make me feel a little better. _**_I'm sure it does…_**_ Shut up! Not like that. _**_Oliver, it's you who is thinking like this… and, it's not a bad thing that you still have a crush on Carl._**  
>I almost growl 'I don't' to myself, but stop my mouth from opening as I remind myself that Carl is right next to me. He doesn't notice though, in fact; he seems to be pretty deep in thought himself. I am about to ask him what's bothering him, but I don't get the chance.<br>"Hey! Where the hell've you two been?" we both startle at Rick's southern bark behind us further down the corridor, and we spin around to face the irritated man. He marches towards us and slows to a stop a few meters away, as to not spread anything he might be carrying.  
>He lifts his brow expectantly at our silence, "Well…" he insists, tensing his jaw and narrowing his eyes like Carl does on so many occasions. I realise that by me and Carl going off like we have done on many occasions before may be a lot more worrying now with everything that is going on, especially since the murders…<br>"W-we… Uh… We've just been in the library," Carl fumbles with his sentence and I can tell that he is debating with himself whether or not to say about the books. But he kindly chooses to leave that out, which I am very grateful for.  
>Rick eyes us both up for a moment, no doubt sensing that his son is holding something back. But he dismisses it, "Carl. Oliver… I gotta talk to you two," he says, making my stomach lurch in worry. We both turn to face him properly and listen carefully to what he has to say, "The council have decided to separate everyone who is vulnerable to the virus… over to the Office Blocks."<br>I nod in understanding, knowing that Rick means for Carl and I to go too, since I'm guessing that by 'most vulnerable' he means 'children and elderly'.  
>But Carl just stares at his Father, "Uh… okay," he says, completely oblivious to what Rick intends, and looking a little confused.<br>I nudge Carl's arm and he glances at me, raising his brow in intrigue, "Us too," is all I have to mumble to be enough for him to understand.  
>He frowns and turns to his Father, "Wha- wh-… Are you kidding?! Why do we have to go?" he complains.<br>Rick rubs his neck and purses his lips, "Look, it's what's gotta be done… all the elderly and the kids are at risk," he says. But as he says 'kids' I see both Rick and Carl tense up.  
>"We're not kids," Carl argues, gritting his teeth. Rick stares at his son, before giving me a quick glance. But upon realising that I am not going to argue unlike Carl, he looks back to his son.<br>"You don't have a choice… Now, go pack your things. Please," he asks. Carl glares at him for a tense moment, until without a word; he turns on his heel and heads back to C-Block. But not before grabbing my hand and pulling me to go with him, he let's go after only a second; but I couldn't help notice the inquisitive look from Rick as he sees him do it. _Um… Uhh…_  
>I clear my throat, pretending not to notice him, and follow after Carl. Rick takes a moment, before I hear him begin to walk after us back to Carl's cell.<p> 


	9. Chapter 9 Isolation

**Carl's POV**

I take my gun from its holster and leave it on my bed, before reaching down and roughly pulling out my duffel bag from underneath, quickly stuffing my hat into it as it was lying just beside it under there. Oliver sets himself on my chair and I see him double take at something next to me.  
>I look at what has caught his eye and purse my lips, "Yeah, your machete… surprise," I mumble, nodding for him to lean forward and take his weapon again. I was hoping that this event would be a lot more cheerful, but I guess most things never really go to plan anymore.<br>Regardless, a smile tugs at Oliver's lips, "Thank you Carl," he says, sliding the machete in the gap between his belt and jeans. I suppress a small smile too, thinking about the book that is still wedged just next to it under my borrowed shirt and top.  
>But our momentary happiness stops when we hear Dad approaching, we look at the cell entrance as he leans on the door frame, rubbing his neck as he looks at us both.<br>I shoot him a glance, before slumping onto my bed and beginning to pack my bag, "Can you hand me the stuff in there," I mutter to Oliver as I unzip the duffel bag, motioning to my bedside table and purposely ignoring my Dad. Oliver nods, avoiding my Father's gaze too out of intimidation, and hands me various items from inside the drawers and on top of my bedside table.  
>"It's for your own good," Dad murmurs, shifting his weight on his heels. I don't look up to him; instead I sigh as I grab my family portrait and stuff it into my bag.<br>"I'm fine… I don't wanna be locked away with a bunch of kids," I complain, as I shove a pile of roughly folded clothes into the bag as well.  
>"I need you in there, both of you. Keepin' an eye on Judith. On everybody else… Makin' sure they're safe," he says, raising his brow, causing his forehead to wrinkle.<br>I stand up, leaning on the bed with my hand on the frame as I watch his expression stubbornly stay unchanged. I reach down and take my gun, bobbing it in my hand before placing it into my holster in my leg, holding my Dad's eye contact as I do. I watch him as he looks around, shuffling his feet as he thinks about how to say his next words, "If anybody gets sick, you let me know."  
>I reach down and grab my half stuffed bag, "What if they've already turned when I find them?" I ask dryly, straightening myself again and turning to look at him, slinging the bag over my shoulder. I see out of the corner of my eye, Oliver look down to the floor and I glance at him, pursing my lips as I realise; that he has already had to find his brother as a walker… <em>Oh, that may have been a little harsh.<em> I am about to apologise for my insensitive remark, but am cut short.  
>"You don't fire it… unless you absolutely need to," Dad warns me, lowering his head.<br>I step closer to him and mimic his subtle head gesture, "But you know I might need to… right?" I say quietly so that Oliver doesn't hear me as well. Dad has to understand that I might have to put someone down, because it may turn out that way. I know he finds it hard to come to terms with… but this isn't about 'Playing Farmer' anymore, he needs to deal with this. Dad stares at me for a moment; processing what I am implying, until eventually he nods; finally giving me his acceptance.  
>I sigh hold his gaze for a moment, silently thanking him. I don't want to have to put anyone down. That's the last thing I want to do. But I need him to understand that I might have to if it comes to that.<br>I turn back to Oliver and watch him for a second, he stands from his chair, "C'mon Man," he says quietly as he walks past and out of my cell. I follow him, glancing to Dad as I go and giving him a small nod.

Oliver stays quiet on the journey to the Office Block, and I am worried that it is because of what I said about finding someone as a walker, "Sorry… about what I said," I apologise, feeling the words struggle to leave my mouth, bruising my pride ever so slightly.  
>Oliver looks at me, "No, I'-I'm fine," he says. I don't know if it's because he is the worst liar in the world, or if it's just that I know him well enough now to be able to notice when he isn't telling me something, but I can sense that he is keeping something from me.<br>"I didn't think about- I… I just need him to understand," I try.  
>Oliver shakes his head, "It's not that… I-" he begins, but he closes his mouth before his words leave it. I furrow my brow and nudge him in the arm to explain.<br>He purses his lips, "I just… I don't want to have to do that; put anyone down if they turn… I-I will… if I have to. I just, really hope we don't have to do it," he explains solemnly, holding the doors to the Office blocks open for me. I walk through and turn around a few steps away from the entrance, watching his expression tentatively as he follows after me.  
>He stops next to me and nods, and I briefly nudge him in the arm, "Me too," I respond truthfully.<br>He gives me a small smile and another nod, "C'mon, let's go find us a room," he motions down the corridor with his knuckles. There are no cells in the Office Blocks, as it was once used for the policemen and officers to file various things about the prisoners and such. So by 'room' Oliver really means 'old smelly office that will be covered in a thick layer of dust'.  
>We scope down the corridors, passing offices that are set parallel to each other, with different respected officer's names embellished on the glass windows. A lot of kids and elders have already moved in during the day, but eventually, Oliver and I find an office room to bunk in.<br>We set our makeshift beds up on the floor, which are just two sleeping bags and one pillow; there's only one pillow, because Oliver is allergic to feathers, along with copious amounts of dust due to his asthma, and we only had feather pillows in A, B, or C-Block, which means he will have to go without a pillow until we find him a suitable one, he'll have to make do with a bundle of my jumpers for now.  
>Once we are set up, we set off to patrol the halls, like Dad wanted, "We'll find you a sheath or somethin' for your machete," I tell Oliver as we walk the hallway.<br>He smiles in thanks and is about to say something, but something catches his eye ahead of us. I furrow my brow and follow his gaze. I see Hershel, quietly making his way out of the Office Blocks.  
>"Where're you goin'?" I call after him.<br>The old man stop and turns to me and Oliver, he sighs impatiently, "I'm down here away from ya'll, 'cause you kids're suppose to stay away from me," he tells us in his 'Hershelly' way in which he is trying to hint for us to leave him alone and let this go.  
>Regardless, I take a few stubborn steps towards him, "We've been walkin' the halls. My Dad told us to look out for everyone," I respond.<br>Hershel raises his hand and I bring myself to stop at the gesture, "Well, you should keep your distance," Hershel insists.  
>I cock an eyebrow and tilt my head towards the door, "You're walkin' towards the exit," I point out, knowing full well that he is aware of this.<br>"I need to go out there," Hershel says, and I get the vibe that he is ready and prepared to argue with me.  
>"What? To the cell blocks?" Oliver interjects, coming to stand beside me.<br>"To the woods."  
>"So you're sneakin' out?" I raise my brow in a scolding fashion, feeling a little more encouraged with Oliver here to back me up.<br>But Hershel isn't any more deterred, "Don't need anyone worryin' 'bout me. An' I damn sure don't want someone tellin' me I can't go," Hershel warns. I look at Oliver for the back up I was depending on earlier, but I am surprised when he raises his brow and does a quick sigh; silently breaking it to me that he agrees with Hershel.  
>I resist the urge to roll my eyes in annoyance, and instead look back to Hershel, "Well, <em>I<em> can't just let you go out into the woods by yourself," I say sternly, though maybe a little deflated after the rejection from Oliver.  
>"Let me?" Hershel questions; challenging my dominance. But I know that Hershel is going to do this whether I do anything about it or not, so I in no way see myself as more authoritative than him.<br>"I can't stop you... But I'd have to tell my Dad," I explain truthfully.  
>Hershel briefly waves me away dismissively, "Well go ahead then. I'll be out there by the time you find him," he replies truthfully and begins to walk away to the exit. I walk after him, not surprised to find that Oliver doesn't follow me and stays where he is.<br>"Hershel," I insist. The man stops and turns to me, narrowing his eyes under his bushy white eyebrows, "If you have to go... then I have to go with you," I say.  
>"Carl-" he complains.<br>"I have to," I interrupt him, knowing that I have found a loop hole.  
><strong><br>Oliver's POV**

I observe, -from the few yards I have between them- while Carl shifts his weight on his hips and Hershel finally responds to the stubborn teenager's request, with a reluctant nod.  
>A smile tugs at Carl's lips, but he does well to hide it, "I'll go get my hat," he announces and quickly heads off down the corridor to our office, obviously trusting the man to keep his -half forced- word.<br>I walk over to Hershel, who is narrowing his eyes after Carl, "That boy is more stubborn that I am old," he chuckles, making his white beard bob back and forth under his hidden chin.  
>I smile and lean on the wall next to him, "Well, he's gotta be <em>pretty darn<em>stubborn then," I smirk at the man.  
>He raises his brow at my joke and scoffs a laugh, "Yeah. Well, I'm <em>pretty darn<em> old," he grins at me. After a moment, his face turns a little more serious, "Oliver. If you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you stayed here an' kept an eye on everyone for us," Hershel says, expecting me to want to go with them. But the truth is quite the opposite.  
>"Yes Sir. I was gonna stay anyway. I just figured it was gonna be bad enough you'd have to go with Carl. It'd just be awkward if I went along with you too," I explain, as this is why I was hanging back when Carl went all 'Stubborn-Grimes' on Hershel a moment ago. He nods in thanks and does a funny shoulder-bobbing chuckle. Hershel's been through a lot, and having Carl imply that he can look after Hershel better than Hershel can, may be a little... patronising to the aging man, especially since Carl could fit several of his own life spans into just one of Hershel's.<br>A few moments pass, and Hershel is just telling me about how it was always Carl who used to sneak out, and how 'times have changed' and all that, when Carl finally does come back from our office.  
>I turn to look at him, still chuckling from Hershel's stories of the 'Pre-Teen Grimes', but my jaw drops as I finally see the famous sheriffs' hat, perched on the top of his head. <em>Damn. Oh, damn! <em>**_Jeeze, I can see why Michonne missed it so much!_**  
>I know that before I said that I just couldn't imagine Carl wearing a sheriffs' hat, but now I realise that I can't seem to stop imagining him wearing it... and<em>it<em> only... _**Jesus crist, Oliver! Stop!**_ _Oh, gosh..._  
>"Uh... Oliver?" I suddenly snap out of my mental convulsion at Carl's confused voice, and I realise that I have been staring at him for the best part of a minute... <em>Shit!<em>  
>"I-I wasn't! W-what?!" I startle, shaking my head and pulling at my beanie, knowing that my cheeks are burning as I avoid both Carl and Hershel's suspicious glances. <em>Oh god! That was so embarrassing! <em>**_That was so much worse than usual!_**_ Well, how am I supposed to help it!? It's not my fault that he has to be so damn handsom... Damn. _**_OLIVER!_**  
>I shake my head again and force myself to look at Carl in the eyes (instead of the various other body areas that I was accidentally glancing at before...) and I startle again as I see the wide mischievous smirk on the Young Grimes' face.<br>He motions to my hands, "You know? If you squeeze any harder your hands're gonna fall off," he jokes, chuckling to himself a little, completely oblivious to the inner-hormonal-turmoil he is inflicting upon me right now.  
>Confused, I look down to my hands, and am completely shocked to see that I have subconsciously clenched them so tightly, that my knuckles have gone white! I force open my extremities, with what feels like a painful creek as the small joints open up again, "S-sorry," I apologise weakly, blushing a darker crimson than before, so much so, that I can feel the heat radiating off of my face. <em>Oh god… This is so embarrassing!<em>  
>I coax myself to look Carl in the eye and he cocks an eyebrow at me, before awkwardly pursing his lips at seeing how uncomfortable I am, "Okay?" he asks, to which I reply with an even more awkward, wordless nod.<br>"Okay," he says again, but as a statement this time. He dips his head, giving me a friendly salute by tipping the front of his hat over his eyebrows a little; unfortunately from my currant mental situation, this simple gesture seems to make me feel weak at the knees, and I focus solely on staying stood up properly. _**Dammit. Calm the fuck down Oliver!**_  
>I bite my lower lip, hard. But manage to force myself to nod again, "Uh, umm. B-be careful o-out there," I barely am able to bring the sentence to my dry mouth.<br>Carl narrows his eyes at me a fraction, before glancing to Hershel, who quite frankly, I had completely forgotten was even here.  
>He motions to the exit, "See you," he smiles, as if he is being careful about how far he curves his lips and shows his dimples.<br>I nod before they get to the exit, and quickly head back along the corridors to continue my duties, hopefully I can clear my mind a little more. _Jesus christ! Michonne should've warned me that Carl looks that good in the hat! _**_Really Oliver? Really?! Why the hell would she have told you that?!_**_ Hey, shut the hell up! _**_Calm down! Don't be such a Drama Queen!_**_ What the heck was that anyway?! _**_Well, Oliver... I believe it's called a 'turn on'..._**  
>I actually stop in my tracks at this realisation, "Oh," I say out loud. I had heard the term in a few books before from the library, (my tries at some of the erotic novels that Carl is apparently so fond of) and I guess what I just experienced is the closes to, (or exactly) what the characters had explained being 'turned on' was like... So yeah, I guess I was 'turned on' by Carl (and his famous hat).<br>My train of thought is interrupted however, but the sound of faint coughing from down the corridor. _Oh no._ I rush towards the noise, coming to a stop in front of an office door with the name, 'PC. Anderson', in gold writing on the bumpy glass window.  
>I knock on it, "Is everyth-" but I don't finish.<br>"Go away!" I recognise the panicked and crying voice of Mika from inside, a long with a muffled cough. _Oh no, she's sick too?_  
>"Mika. C'mon... It's okay... If you're sick, we can help you. But you gotta go to A-Blo-" I try, but again I am cut off by Mika as she suddenly bursts out crying, and I can see her through the tiny dents in the window surface, as she presses her back against the door to stop me from entering.<br>"W-we're fine! Jus'… go away! Please?!" Mika begs, and I hear another cough, but I realise that it isn't Mika who is coughing. _Lizzie..._  
>Just as I become aware of this, I hear the older Samuel Sister's sickly and croaky voice, "Don -<em><strong>*cough*<strong>_- Don't let 'im ta -_***splutter***_- take me there Mika?!" she begs her sister desperately. A lump forms in my throat as her choking voice reminds me of the last time I spoke to my brother.  
>I step away from the door, "Lizzie… you can't stay in there… you'll make your sister sick. We can help you, but you gotta go to A-Block," I explain slowly, focusing on comforting her and making sure my voice doesn't crack.<br>There is a long pause, and I faintly hear sad whispering on the other side of the door between the two close siblings. Until finally I hear Mika, "No! I can't let her go there," she begs. My heart breaks. I feel terrible for them.  
>"I-I know… But Mika, you gotta do this. Please, I know. It happened to Patrick… You need to let your sister get help, or she's gonna-" I can't finish my sentence. I can't say that to them, "Lizzie?" I say, and I hear a little cough of a yes from her, "Lizzie, you gotta do this too… you gotta protect your sister… and this is the only thing that'll help her, and help you too," I say, closing my eyes and forcing my tears to stay inside of my head.<br>After another long pause, I hear the door knob click and turn, and the office door opens a little. I watch Lizzie slowly make her way out, coughing weakly into the insides of her elbow. _Oh no, Lizzie._  
>Mika sits in the corner of the office, wrapping her arms around her knees and crying into them, "Mika, you gotta wash, okay?" I suggest, and she looks up to me, tears running wet tracks down her cheeks as she nods, "There are showers in the office blocks, they're a little more difficult than the cell block showers, because they have weird dials. If you can't get them to work, Carl should be back soon and he'll help you," I tell her, and she nods again, bringing herself to her skinny feet and making her way out of the office, she squeezes her sister's hand once, before making her way to the Office Block Showers alone. I feel bad for her, but I have to help Lizzie down to A-Block. I know that I can't go into A-Block, but I have to make sure Lizzie at least reaches the building, and then Carol can help her.<br>I take Lizzie's hand in my left, making sure that I don't touch her with my right as I need to use that hand to open doors for us etc. without spreading the virus any more than we already have.

We get to outside A-Block, the small child shaking even in the warm evening, but I think she may be afraid too. _**Comfort her, Oliver!**_  
>"Lizzie? You're gonna be fine. Carol is in there at the door, if you go find her, she'll help you. Don't be scared," I try to comfort her. She puts on a brave face and let's go of my hand. I hold my reassuring smile, as I watch her enter A-Block and disappear behind the big metal doors. <em>Death row… no wonder she is terrified.<em>  
>I quickly go back to the Office Blocks, going straight to my office to grab some of Carl's clothes, and then rushing to the shower room to find a cubicle. Because these showers were for the officers; they really are a lot fancier; with a strange temperature dial that makes a squeaking noise if you turn it a way that it disagrees with. <em><strong>Yes, they are so fancy that the showers have an opinion.<strong>_ _No, not exactly._ But the damn thing does startle me on several occasions when it suddenly decides to make the terrible screeching noise as it tries to adjust the plumbing. But I guess it takes my mind off of how many more people are getting sick…  
>I shower quickly, scrubbing any invisible traces of the virus off of my skin, and after disposing of my clothes to the laundry, and then dressing into Carl's clean clothes, I go back towards my office.<br>When I get to the door of mine and Carl's office, I am confused when I hear someone crying inside. I swing open the door and am shocked to see Carl freaking out inside, and pacing around the room. He startles when I come in and his eyes widen as he sees me.  
>Relief floods his expression, "Where were you?!" he half screams at me, launching forward as if he is about to hug me, but he stops himself short of it. <em>What's going on?!<em>  
>"Carl, what the hell's wrong?" I ask worriedly.<br>He glares at me, angry tears prickling at his eyes as he takes a step away from me and crosses his arms over his stomach, "God! I thought you got sick. I couldn't find you anywhere! What the hell!?" he shouts, violently wiping the few tears that escape his eyes and scowling at me.  
>"I-I had to take Lizzie to A-Block, she got sick," I explain, feeling a little breathless from my sudden adrenaline rush, "H-have you seen Mika?" I ask, remembering the state I was forced to leave the young child in.<br>Carl nods, but keeps his frown at me, "Y-yeah. I jus' had to show her how to work the stupid dial thing on the shower… Oliver, I thought you were sick," he says again, like he thinks that the more he says it, the less likely it will be that it will happen to me.  
>I shake my head and move to sit on the office table, propping my legs up on the wheelie chair, "I'm fine Man. Jeeze. You know… worrying about me isn't gonna make me love you any more than I already do," I joke, and can't help the smirk on my lips at seeing how worried Carl is about me. I'm kind of flattered really; I have never seen him show so much compassion for anything, I mean, other than Judith, his comics and his gun.<br>His face seems to soften for a moment at my peculiar comment, but he brushes it off and his expression turns to anger again, causing me to chuckle at him, and that only infuriates him more, "Y-you know what?.. Fuck you Oliver! Fuck you, _and_ your _fucking_ sarcasm," he barks, throwing his fists out in front of him.  
>I don't say anything for a moment, allowing Carl to calm down a little because I realise just how much stress I have cause the teenager, especially to make him cuss so much in one sentence. Until eventually, after a few paces back and fourth across the room, he comes and sits next to me on the table, and with one surprisingly painful jab to my side from Carl's elbow; I am forgiven, and Carl lets himself smile a little at my pain.<br>"How'd it go with Hershel?" I ask quietly, wincing a little as I rub the right side of my ribcage to subdue the throb from his elbowing.  
>Carl nods, "Good… actually. He got his elderberry, and I <em>didn't<em> shoot two walkers," he says, with a strangely proud smile.  
>I furrow my brow, "And, <em>not<em> shooting two walkers is such a great accomplishment, because…" I ask, confused by why he is so elated from not putting them down; because the Carl I have gotten to know these past 2 months, would be more than comfortable to shoot a few walkers no problem.  
>Carl looks at me and his smile turns softer than it already was, "I was gonna kill them. But Hershel said I didn't have to… so… I just… didn't," he explains. I think about what he could possibly mean by this. Maybe Carl has been a little trigger-happy in the past, not surprising in a child who's grown up in the apocalypse I suppose. If this is the case, (and from everything that I know about Carl; I'm betting that it is) it really is a great feat if he choose not to kill something when he doesn't have to, even if he could have.<br>I furrow my brow, but quickly relax it and smile at him, "Well… Congratulations Man… Proud of you," I smirk, but I knock his knee with mine so that he knows that I mean what I say.  
>Carl grins at the floor, "Thanks," he mutters.<br>I smile at him, but my eyes trail up to his hat. I reach over and flick the brim of it, "When _did_ you get this then?" I ask curiously.  
>Carl chuckles, "Oh, yeah… what do you think of it?" he asks, obviously referring to my reaction from earlier when I almost went catatonic at the sight of him in it.<br>I can feel myself blush, but I decide to tell him the truth… sort of, "Yeah, pretty sexy," I say, purposely playing it off as sarcasm. I'm hoping that after the rather 'racy' terms that Carl has been using around me lately; he will just go with my joking and let it go. Carl laughs, and to my relief, he does exactly what I was hoping and lets the subject go a little bit, but I can see that he is thinking about what I just said, and I can tell that if I don't change the subject, that his stubbornness will force him to press on it.  
>"But seriously, where did you get it?" I nonchalantly go back to my original question about his hat. <em><strong>You know? You're actually a lot smoother than I give you credit for Oliver.<strong>_  
>"My Dad… he gave it to me when I got shot," he tells me and I nod.<br>Carl has told me about how he got shot by Hershel's farm hand, Otis, and about Hershel's farm and the barn full of walkers, and bout how they all found Sophia in the barn as a walker.  
>"So, he gave it to you <em>because<em> you got shot?" I ask.  
>Carl nods a little, "Yeah, I guess, he said 'I could join the club' because he got shot before all of this. He was in a coma for a month before he found me and Mom at our first camp," he tells me.<br>"Jeeze. This must seem like one _hell_ of a nightmare for him," I say.  
>Carl laughs a little, "Yeah. He was Deputy at The King County Sheriffs' Department. This was his hat. But I think that the fact I had a seizure might have convinced him to give me the hat too," Carl adds casually.<br>My eyes widen and I stare at him, "You had a seizure? Why?" I ask.  
>Carl smirks at me, "You know… worrying about me isn't gonna make me love you any more than I already do," he mocks what I said to him earlier, but I can feel my cheeks heat up as he imitates my slightly articulate accent.<em>Dammit. What is he trying to prove! <em>**_What were you trying to prove when you said it, Oliver?_**_ Nothing! I wasn't trying to prove anything! Carl is just being annoying… to just… annoy me!_  
>"Fuck you Carl," I frown at him, feeling myself getting genuinely frustrated by his words, because as much as I tell myself not to; I do and will always have feelings for Carl. I couldn't say love, not because I don't… or whatever… I just have never been in love before, and I don't have any idea what it feels like, and I kind of have this belief; that I would 'just know' when, and if, I ever did fall in love… or whatever… <strong>Maybe Carl had the same reaction earlier as you just did, because… maybe, possibly… h<strong>_**e was thinking the same thing about you?**_ _What? No… I know that Carl doesn't think of m-_  
>"Blood loss," my thoughts cut of by his voice. I look at him, actually having forgotten what we were talking about in the first place. Carl notices my confusion, so elaborates, "I had the seizure from blood loss; unfortunately a pretty common side affect of getting shot is quite a bit of blood loss," he says, suppressing his smile at how impressed I must look.<br>I wince a little, imagining how awful it must have been for him, "Do you remember it?" I ask, allowing my previous worries to float out of my head.  
>"What? Getting shot? Or the seizure?" Carl asks.<br>"Both I guess."  
>"I remember just before I got shot. The dear," he says, and I nod because Carl has expressed his fondness of the creature before, "But the only thing I remember about the seizure is just before I blacked out; how out of control I felt over myself. L-like I wasn't even me anymore, just… locked, in my body and having to wait for it all to stop… I guess kina what I'd think being a walker is like, you know?" he says, frowning as he recollects the traumatic experience.<br>I nod and knock his knee with mine again, "It's getting late. We should probably try to get some food before it's all gone," I say quietly, changing the subject as I see how disturbed by this all he seems.  
>Carl nods and climbs off of the table and I follow a moment later. We head down to the main Office, relived to find that Maggie has brought some food for all of us, and everyone eats their small share of muesli and bottled water. Not exactly 5 star or anything, but no one is complaining. Maggie sadly tells us that Glenn, Doctor S and Sasha have all come down with the sickness too now… she does well to fight her tears, but I can't imagine her pain, it was terrible enough losing a brother, I can't begin to understand what it would be like to have your love's life threatened.<p>

When we are finished, Carl and I thank Maggie and head back to our office, after checking that everyone is alright and won't need anything else. Carl is a little down that he can't say goodnight to Judith, because she is being kept in extreme quarantine down the hall with Beth; because if the infant got sick, we all know that she would be a hopeless case within hours…

The night is uneventful, depressing, and uncomfortable with only Carl's jumpers as a lumpy pillow and no mattresses under either of us.  
>"Guess it's better than out there," Carl whispers, noticing my occasional grunts of annoyance. We are both led on the floor about a foot apart, led parallel to each other, only our feet and heads are opposite to each other. This is so that Carl's feather pillow isn't too close to my face, otherwise… well, asthma attack and all.<br>"Hmm. I remember finding a big, dead flower bed that felt comfier than this," I grumble, but regardless of my complaints; I am beginning to get tired.  
>Carl gives a lazy chuckle, and stays quiet for a moment, letting me drift off to sleep a little more. Just as I am falling into unconsciousness, he mumbles something to me, but I don't hear it properly, "Wha-what?" I groan, sleepily.<br>"Nothing. It doesn't matter," he replies quietly.  
><em>No, tell me. I want to know.<em> I try to make myself ask him to tell me, but it turns out that as I think I am making my argument, I am just saying it in my head, but I fall asleep before I am able to make myself talk properly.


	10. Chapter 10 Indifference and Internment

**Carl's POV**

I wake up to the sound of shuffling, or rustling… I'm not sure. I open my eyes and slowly bring my sore back to sit up; it seems that I've been extremely underrating the cell beds the whole time I have lived here at The Prison.  
>I wipe the sleep from my eyes and hear the noise again, but when I look at what it is; my eyes widen when I see Oliver dressing himself. I think I am about to turn away, but I find that I can't seem to be able to. Pretty much every inch of his body apart from what his boxers are covering is exposed.<em>Uh…<em> He rummages around inside of my duffel bag for some clothes, and I kind of gawk at him, a little, kind of… well, a lot really. But he isn't looking directly at me; so my idiotic-sleepy-logic believes that he can't see me looking at him… but I'm wrong.  
>"Morning," Oliver chuckles, and turns his head to mock me with a cocked eyebrow. <em>Shit!<em>  
>I startle badly, and quickly turn away, "Oh, s-sorry…" I blurt out, and can't stop my face from turning crimson and scrunching up in embarrassment.<em>Jesus, oh my god. That's so creepy of me!<em>  
>"Like what you see?" Oliver jokes sarcastically, and casually continues to grab some jeans and pulls them on; I can see this because I am glaring at him now.<br>"No! Wh-what?! Shut up," I hiss, but regardless of my statement, I still find myself glancing at his exposed chest, and noticing the toned muscles on his abdomen and chest. _Stop! What are you doing that for?!_ I shake my head and force myself to look away again, as he buckles the jeans up and laughs at me.  
>"Screw you. I wasn't- I… Douche," I mumble the last part, awkwardly pulling my sleeping bag up a little and feeling my annoyance build.<br>"I'm just fucking with you Man. Hey, can I use these?" he asks nonchalantly. Slowly and carefully; I turn to look at him again, ignoring his revealed skin and seeing the denim over shirt in his hand and my red short-sleeve in his other.  
>I nod, "Yeah, whatever," I say, trying to be dismissive about it.<br>Oliver nods in thanks and pulls the almost-clean clothes on, and I can finally look at him properly and let my cheeks go back to their original relentlessly-pale-despite-the-constant-amount-of-time-I-spend-outside colour.  
>"C'mon, get dressed. I'm gonna go brush my teeth and then head out to walk the halls. I'll meet you out there," he says, stuffing his inhaler into his front pocket and I nod.<br>Oliver leaves, and I quickly dress into my average jeans, sweat-stained top, filthy shirt, trekking boots and sheriffs' hat; not exactly the nicest attire, but it does its job to not let me freeze. I head to the shower room and quickly brush my teeth, before going to find Oliver to patrol the halls.  
>After a few minutes, I find him; he's consoling Mika. She is bunking with her friends Molly and Luke, now that she hasn't got her sister or Carol to stay with. They are all pretty disheartened by Lizzie's absence. Although I didn't particularly get along with Lizzie, I still feel terrible for her, and Mika. I couldn't imagine it if Judith got sick.<br>I nod to the kids and they bid me good morning, before saying goodbye to Oliver –whom they have all become quite fond of lately- and we both head off for patrol duties.

It's gone late afternoon, and the Veterinary College run still hasn't returned. Dad left with Carol about 4 hours ago to find something to help the sick, but in doing so; they've left Maggie as the only healthy adult to keep up The Prison. There's nothing that me and Oliver can do to help her either, because we have to stay in the damn Office Blocks.  
>I don't understand why Dad couldn't have just gone alone; we need Carol here. I know that to go on a run, you are suppose to have at least 2 people, but we really need her, and Dad can look after himself just fine. I suppose he will have some reason for having to take Carol, maybe she has a better knowledge of the kind of medication he is looking for or something. I don't know, but I hope he knows what he is doing.<br>I am back in my office with Oliver, he's reading a book and I am reading a comic to kill time. But it's hard to focus on the stories when you're constantly worried about everything.  
>Just when I can't take it anymore; feeling like I am about to slap my comic together and storm out of Office Block, threatening to just go look for Dad and Carol myself… I hear my name being called.<br>I wait a moment, thinking that I'm hearing things.

"Carl!"

Again, I hear it. I recognise the voice as my Dad's, calling for me from the Office Block entrance. Oliver hears it too, and his head snaps up from his Green Lantern comic book.  
>"C'mon," I exclaim, leaping off of the desk I was perched on and swinging open the door, running as quickly as I can towards the Office Block exit with Oliver following.<p>

"Carl!" he calls again, just as I skid around the corner and see him lugging a large supply bag on his shoulder, and two full bin liners in his hand. He looks unscathed, but a little worried.  
>"You okay?" I ask nervously, as Oliver jogs up next to me.<br>Dad nods, "I was gonna ask you that," he says.  
>Me and Oliver walk towards him, but Dad steps back at the same pace as we move, so we stop, "We're okay," Oliver says.<br>Dad nods to Oliver, and then looks at both of us intermittently as he talks, "No one's sick? You didn't have to do anything?" he asks.  
>Oliver shakes his head, "No Sir," he says.<br>I look at Dad sideways a little and shake my head, "Haven't had to use my gun Dad," I say, trying to ignore my slight annoyance as he stares at me in concern.  
>He nods to us, "An' Judith?" he asks dubiously, wrinkling his brow in fear of my answer.<br>"She's with Beth," I reassure him.  
>He lets out a strained sigh, "Good," he nods, relief softening his expression. He sets the bin liners on the floor, and then pulls the bag off his shoulder, "Found some food on the run," he says, sliding the bag across the floor towards us. I catch it and sling it over my shoulder, "There's a bunch of fruit that're in there, so have everybody brush their teeth after," he informs us.<br>"Thanks," Oliver says gratefully as I purse my lips in subtle gratitude.  
>Dad picks up the bin liners and begins to walk away, "Can we come out soon?" I ask, unable to hide the impatience in my voice.<br>Dad walks back a little and shakes his head, "Not jus' yet."  
>I purse my lips and tilt my head in contempt, "Dad. We were around you when you were in the middle of it. Oliver was in there with you. A-and we were around Patrick…" I say. I glance to Oliver, and he purses his lips and nods a little. I look back to my Dad, "We didn't get it. We can help you," I insist.<br>"Thanks. But, I need you to stay here," he replies, and walks towards the exit. I glance to Oliver and he motions his head for me to go after my Dad, so I do; leaving Oliver where he is for a moment.  
>"I will… but," I sigh, and Dad turns around to me, "Dad. You can't keep me from it," I say quietly.<br>"From what?" Dad asks, confused.  
>I stare at him, "From what always happens," I answer.<br>Dad looks away for a moment, then turns back to me with his brow raised, "Yeah… maybe. But I think it's my job to try," he mutters, before quickly leaving down the corridor and out of the Office Block.  
>I stare after him for a long time. Even after all of this, he still doesn't get it. He still thinks he can protect me from everything fucked up in the world. But he can't, the damage is done. I've seen and done worse things than he will ever be able to reverse. But he still thinks he can.<br>I hear Oliver walk up to me. I glance at the floor, closing my eyes in my anger and frustration. He puts his hand on my shoulder, but I stay still. So he pulls the bag off of me and slings it over his own shoulder, "Let's give them the food," he says quietly.  
>I nod, still facing away from him as I let my annoyance towards my father settle, before I turn around, nod, and we both head back to the main office area, collecting everyone as we go.<br>We all unpack the supply bag; it's filled with all kinds of canned goods, but the think that gets everyone so excited is the 20 or so peaches inside. Even I let myself smile at the sight of such fresh produce.  
>I go and give Beth and Judith some food too; who both have to stay in their office all the time to protect my sister. Beth thanks me, and I catch the first glimpse of my 8 month old sister in almost 2 days, and it manages to lift my spirits even more than the peaches.<br>When everyone has had their fill and brushed our teeth afterwards like Dad said, we all go back to what we were originally doing; which for most is basically just waiting in our offices for nothing to happen.

It's getting dark now. Me and Oliver are just returning to our office from walking the halls to go to bed. Oliver is ranting about the 'cruelly unsatisfying' ending in a book he finished earlier, and I pay him mild to no interest as he talks; holding back my smirk and thinking about how much of a colossal dork he is.  
>"I mean, yeah it was a great book and all. But it just finished mid sentence! I think that the character just died or something. But I am so mad, 'cause it didn't explain what happened to the other characters. And, I need that closure. You know? Without closure, how can they call it a story? What's up with that?! It's barbaric! An-"<p>

**CLACK**

We both startle at a loud gunshot coming from somewhere in the prison, "What was that?" Oliver asks, twisting around to face where it could have come from, but it sounded like it echoed through the entire prison.  
>I look at him, "Gunshot," I breathe worriedly, as a course of adrenaline surges through my body.<p>

**BANG**

Another one! "What's going on?" Oliver asks desperately, instinctively putting his hand on his machete.  
>I open my mouth to reply, but I can't answer, "I-I don't know," I mutter.<p>

"Carl,"

I snap my head around at my name, coming from down the corridor. _Dad?_

"Carl?" he hisses, trying to keep his voice quiet because people are going to be in bed by now.  
>"Come on," Oliver barks, and we run down the hallway towards him.<br>"Carl!" Dad whispers loudly, just as we both run around the corner to see him waiting for me. He's holding a flashlight with a distressed expression on his moonlit face.  
>"I heard gunshots!" I tell him in a hushed bark, holding out my arm in confusion as we stop a few meters away from him.<br>He beckons us to follow him, "I need your help. Oliver, you too. Ya think you can do that?" he asks quickly. Oliver nods, and we both draw our weapons and hurry after my dad out of the Office Blocks.

**Oliver's POV**

"You won't need those," Rick tells us, pointing at Carl's gun and my machete.  
>We quickly put them away, "W-what're we doing then?" Carl asks, confused as we all hurry down to the fences; the complete opposite direction of the gunshots.<br>"We gotta keep the fences from cavin' in. The weight of the walkers is getting too much for it," Rick explains, leading us through the watch tower and out into the inner fence strip.  
>"Oh, Jeeze," falls from my mouth, as I see the state of the fence; walkers are stacking themselves on top of each other, trampling themselves underneath one another as they shove themselves against the bending fence line.<em>Fuck!There are so many!<em> The fence is dipping in and swaying violently under the colossal weight of the dead, and it looks like it has only moments before giving in to them.  
>Rick takes us over to a particularly bad part of the fence, there are chopped wooden beams propped up along the fence, but there aren't nearly enough up yet, so I guess that is what we are doing.<br>We don't wait; Rick quickly explains how we are going to do this, and we begin grabbing wooden beams and wedging them against the fence, and then hammering them more securely into the ground when they're up.  
>We do this over and over again, until we have managed to set up at least 7 or 8 of the beams, and the fence looks like it is holding a little better. I am just hammering the end of a beam into the gravel, as Rick helps to wedge it against the fence; the walkers aggressively shoving themselves against the wire for Rick as his back is turned, but they can't reach him.<br>Carl goes over to grab another beam, but Rick interrupts him, "I got it," he says, picking it up.  
>"Let me help," Carl insists, lifting the other end. Rick seems to watch Carl for a moment, but relents, and they both set up the next beam as I finish the last one.<br>But my heart stops, as suddenly, I hear loud cracking coming from the wooden beam next to me. I freeze, and stare at it as it begins to bend at an odd angle… until, quicker than I can do anything, the thing snaps. _Oh, fuck…_  
>I watch in horror as the wood falls to the floor with a loud clatter, and I instinctively launch forward at the fence, barely missing the snapping teeth than bite for my fingers. Rick yells something at me, but I am too distracted to hear him. He and Carl run over, helping me push against the fence, but it continues to dip lower and lower. <em>No, no! NO!<em>  
>Suddenly, the beam on the other side of us snaps clean in the middle, and to my heart stopping terror, the fence finally caves to the weight.<br>The wire violently slams down to the gravel, and what seems like an infinite number of walkers come pouring into the inner strip. _SHIT! OH, FUCK!_ I try to scramble out of the way but in my panic, I fall to my knees. _Shit!_ I desperately try to rush to my feet but I am too foggy, my fear making my muscles refuse to cooperate with my mind.  
>But just as I think I am about to get grabbed, Carl hauls me to my feet by my collar. "Go!" he roars, shoving me to move and we sprint as fast as our legs will carry us towards the door. Rick shoves walkers away as he hurtles after me and Carl, but as he pushes another one, he loses his footing and falls to the floor with a loud grunt. <em>Shit!<em>  
>"Rick! C'mon!" I scream, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him to stand. With the walkers right on our heels; the three of us launch through the door and Rick slams it closed behind us. <em>Phew.<em>  
>He turns to us in shock, with his mouth wide open as he processes what just happened, but we all jump away from the door as the walkers bang and scratch at it from the other side. <em>Oh god, oh god, oh god!<em>  
>"C'mon," Rick mutters.<br>We all stumble into the car park; panting as we watch the walkers see us come out, and change their course to the fence closest to us, wrapping against it and violently shoving them selves into the wire. It is already dipping to their will, and doesn't look like it will hold for long!  
>"What do we do?" Carl asks his father desperately.<br>Rick wipes his upper lip and looks at his son, fear bleeding across his expression, "Maybe I can back the bus up against the fence?" Rick seems to ask rather than inform us.  
>Carl notices his unsure tone and his fear seems to worsen, "Will it hold?" he asks worriedly.<br>Rick looks from the fence, to Carl, to me, and then to Carl again. His face suddenly contorts in worry, "C'mon," he mumbles, unable to answer his son and pulling both me and Carl by the shoulders towards the bus, rather roughly in his panic, because we half stumble after him.  
>Rick climbs into the bus, and Carl and I sit in the two seats behind. When Rick starts the engine, he puts the heavy vehicle into gear, and drives the bus towards the fence that the mass of walkers have accumulated against. But our stomachs and hearts drop in unison as we see that we have only moments before it collapses, not enough time to position the bus, and even if we did, there are way too many for it to be effective! <em>Shit.<em>  
>"It's not gonna work," Carl thinks out loud, staring wild eyed as the fence bends further in, right before our eyes.<br>Rick glares at the walkers, "Get out! We'll use the light from the bus… we're gonna have to take 'em down," he growls, and we do as he says.  
>We jump out of the vehicle, leaving it on and facing the walkers; giving us enough light to see what we will have to do in a moment.<br>We hurtle towards the armoury bins, lined up against the fence behind us. Rick grabs a rifle and hands it to Carl, "You got it?" he asks him.  
>"Yep," Carl confirms. <em>Oh, shit.<em>  
>Rick takes another rifle, before doing the last thing I want and handing it over to me, he notices my unsure and confused expression, "Do you know how to use a gun?" he asks. After almost a year and a half of living in the apocalypse; it would be normal to assume that someone would be at least competent in using a gun. But no, for the pathetic teenager who is unfortunately me… has never fired a gun in his entire life.<br>"Uh… n-no," I confess, feeling my throat tighten as the stress begins to get to me. _Oh god. This is terrible!_  
>But Rick's expression doesn't change. He nods to me reassuringly, "Listen close, 'cause today's the day you'll have to learn," he says, worryingly too confident of his statement for my liking, but I nod.<br>Rick grabs a rifle for himself and motions for me and Carl to follow him towards the walkers, "Alright, listen to me. Magazine goes in here. Release is here. Make sure to latch it. Pull back the Operating Rod. The rounds speed up. Keep squeezing the trigger, for rapid fire, okay?" he says everything so fast, demonstrating on his own gun as he explains. But to my utter relief, I actually understand him as he talks; it turns out that Carol's story time lessons have served their purpose after all.  
>Carl and I nod, and repeat everything that he tells us; Carl doing everything flawlessly, but I take a little longer time, but get the job done. Rick looks pretty shocked that I have done it correctly. But he doesn't know that I have practiced on the rifles that Carol has taught us with in story time, the only thing I am worried about it the shooting, as it was obviously impossible to do that in the prison library.<br>Rick takes Carl's shoulder and I stop beside the focused teenager. The man looks both of us in the eyes, "You shoot, or you run," he says, shifting his intense gaze between us both and we nod, "Don't let 'em get close, okay?" he adds clearly and we nod again.  
>We turn to the walkers and make our way towards them, but just as we do, the whole fence panel snaps apart from the others and slams to the gravel with a loud crash. <em>Oh, fuck!<em>  
>The walkers flood into the car park, stumbling over each other and past the agape hole in the broken fence, rushing as fast as their rotten limbs can move, ambling for the fresh meat that is only yards away.<br>We don't hesitate, Rick, Carl and I aim our weapons at them, and the two Grimes' begin shooting; taking out the walkers with no problem what so ever. I on the other hand, take a little more time. Keeping my nerve; I try to remember what Carol said about how firearms work. "_Take your time to aim, and…" oh what was the other bit she said in the lesson?!_ No time to wonder about it now though. I take a deep breath and pull the trigger. An exploding pain rockets through my shoulder, along with the BANG of the bullet, and I inevitably miss. The bullet hits the wall of the watch tower a good 10 yards behind the walkers. **_Fuck, that hurt!_** _I remember now; "Take your time to aim, and_ **_watch the kick back,_**_" __Carol said._  
>I ignore my throbbing shoulder and take aim again, wincing a little as I take a deep breath and pull the trigger for a second time, and this time; successfully bracing myself for the kick back. I hit a walker in the throat, but it keeps coming after us. <em>Shit.<em> **_Oliver! Get it together!_** I aim at it again. But suddenly, the walker slumps to the floor with a bullet hole through its forehead. Confused, I look over to Carl and he nods to me, quickly shooting another two walkers with ease, "Thanks," I yell, despite the urgency of the situation I still feel embarrassed.  
>I aim again, and when I pull the trigger at my target, the walker's head explodes and it crashes to the floor. <em>Fuck yeah!<em> With the dangerous mixture adrenaline and relief, I breathe a nervous laugh of relief, before focusing on my next target and taking it down after two bullets. All the while, Rick and Carl put down countless walkers with the first bullet they shoot at it.  
>Earth shaking shots ring out in the car park, and walker after walker drops to the floor with a black, oozing puddle forming around their heads. We keep shooting, moving further back to get a little more distance, until the cluster begins to visibly thin out a lot more. This is definitely good practice, because every other walker I shoot, I manage to take it out with just one shot, nothing compared to The Grimes' flawless efforts, but for me this is impressive.<br>When Rick's ammo runs out, he is forced to take out an advancing walker with a hard blow to its temple. It crashes to the floor and Carl quickly puts a bullet in its head. I grab a magazine from my pocket and toss it to him, and he quickly throws it to his father for him to load up again.  
>Together; me and Carl advance on the lessening horde, shooting and killing the fast decreasing amount of walkers, and I notice Rick hang back for a second. I glance at him, and am confused when I see the shocked expression on his face as his gaze shifts from me to Carl, but he quickly composes himself again, and the three of us continue to fight the dead.<br>Finally, with one last shot from Rick's rifle, the last walker drops to the floor, and as the silence sets in as we overlook our work, my ears continue to ring from the deafening noise that they have just had to endure. But it's over, and we are okay. That's all that matters.

**Carl's POV**

We finish the last few stragglers off with quick blows to the head with a crowbar, and Oliver uses his machete to take the ones he sees out. When Dad takes out the last walker, he turns to me. I watch him as he stares worriedly at me, but he looks away, fighting his tears and I glance at the floor, pursing my lips. _What are we going to do now? There's a giant, gaping hole in our home..._  
>Dad composes himself again, and I nod a little to be of some kind of comfort to him, before going over to Oliver, "You okay?" I ask quietly, and Oliver gulps and nods.<br>Dad comes over too and puts his hands on our shoulders, "Well done both of you… Oliver, you shot well. I'm proud of you both," he praises us.  
>Oliver nods tiredly and I can tell that he wants to use his inhaler, but he is waiting to be alone to take it because he usually tries to use it when no one is looking. I'm impressed how well he did earlier, he's definitely a beginner, but he did okay for himself. I purse my lips into a tired smile, "Yeah. Where'd you learn about guns," I ask, surprised that he was able to prepare the gun and understand what Dad was explaining about them.<br>Oliver coughs, before smiling a little, "Miss Peletier's lessons," he admits dubiously, glancing at Dad. _I guess it's no big secret anymore about Carol's lessons after I told Dad about them. Wait… where is Carol anyway?_  
>I am about to ask Dad, but Oliver takes the words from my mouth, "Mr. Grimes? Where is she? Why didn't she come back from your run?" he asks breathlessly.<br>Dad lets go of our shoulder and his expression becomes very serious. He purses his lips and shifts his weight on his hips, and I can still see his tears welling in his eyes, but when he opens his mouth to answer Oliver, we all suddenly spin around to look at the front gates at the sound of a car engine…

_The veterinary college run is back!_

"Dad…" I sigh with relief, "Everything's gonna be okay," I say comfortingly._We can help them now, they are going to live._ Dad watches me for a moment, a flicker of relief spreading over his shaken expression as he nods a fraction.  
>Oliver nudges my arm, "C'mon Man," he says quietly. I nod and follow him down the driveway over to the front gates, and we open them for our friends. Dad takes a moment, before finally following and pulling the car park gate open, dragging the bottom as it goes with a loud scrape that we can here from all the way down at the front gates.<br>The car rolls into the prison, full of everyone who left; Bob, Daryl, Michonne and Tyreese, and me and Oliver quickly shut the fences behind them. I let a smile tug at my lips, feeling the rare flicker of hope again as I nod to Oliver and we make our way back up the driveway together.


	11. Chapter 11 I Did What I Had To Do

**Carl's POV**

"We did okay," Oliver says, wheezing a little as we head into the Office Blocks. We don't greet the run, because we are still supposed to be avoiding anyone exposed, even though it probably doesn't matter anymore anyway now that the run is back with the medicine. _Thankfully._  
>I nod to him, "Yeah. But you should keep hold of your machete. Your shooting's not quite there yet," I mock, feeling the need to lift a little of the tension after what just happened to us all.<br>Oliver smirks at me, "Jackass," he says, coughing a little.  
>I purse my lips, "Oliver, jus' take your inhaler," I furrow my brow at him and take a deep breath, but stop myself because such a gesture in front of him right now seems like I am bragging that my lungs work better than his.<br>Oliver nods, too out of breath to even come up with some sarcastic comment to retort with. He fishes his inhaler out of his pocket and brings it to his lips. I watch him as he sprays it into his throat, and I find myself subconsciously inhaling as well as he breaths it in.  
>Oliver rolls his eyes at me and puts his inhaler back in his pocket, "Jeeze! If dumbasses like you didn't watch me like a hawk when I took it - I wouldn't be so damn reluctant to use it in front of you all," he says in jest, although I notice the true annoyance behind his words.<br>I drop my gaze, "Right. Sorry," I mumble, scratching my cheek as I feel them flush with embarrassment.  
>"Come on, Dork," he jokes, briefly hooking my wrist with his fingers and pulling me into The Office blocks. I suppress my smile and go with him, and he lets go of my wrist again. I look over my shoulder at the last moment, seeing Tyreese rushing over to A-Block to help Sasha, before look back and head down the corridor. <em>They'll be okay. Everything's going to be alright now.<em>

We get back to our office, and I become aware of how incredibly exhausted I am. I slump across the floor on my sleeping bag, and struggle to sit myself up against the wall. Oliver closes the office door behind him and comes to sit next to me, leaving his machete against the wall and then grabbing his beanie hat as he sits.  
>"You're a good shot," he states once he is comfortable and has put his hat back on.<br>I smile a little, feeling strangely enlightened by seeing him wearing his beanie again. He smiles back, wrongly thinking that I am reacting to his comment. I push my thoughts to the back of my head and avert my eyes, staring down into my lap and letting myself enjoy the flattery of his words finally, "Thanks," I say quickly.  
>Oliver sighs and rests his head on the wall, "Your Dad... he looked pretty shaken after… after everything. Is he gonna be alright?" he asks tenderly.<br>I just shrug. _I don't have a clue. He's strong, my dad. But I have seen him sink lower than tonight. Tonight was nothing. I've seen him scream at the air. I've seen him break down and go insane. I've seen him kill his best friend._  
>Oliver stays quiet for a moment and my mind trails off to the conversation Dad and I had earlier, and I feel myself getting annoyed by how much he is trying to shelter me from everything that is going wrong. But he is only doing it because of what I did... because I shot that kid. I didn't feel guilty about what I did in the woods that day. I thought that it would come back to haunt me, like Dale, or Mom. But lately, over the last few months at The Prison, and after sneaking out with Hershel, and Dad finally giving my gun back; I realise how differently I could have taken that day. I realise that maybe I could've spared his life, and it wouldn't have come back to haunt me... maybe.<br>"Oliver..?" I whisper, suddenly feeling overpowered by my thoughts. I have to tell him. I can't keep what I did from Oliver anymore. He will never trust me again. But I have to tell him.  
>He turns to me and nods, furrowing his brow is concern for my unintentionally desperate tone, "Uh huh. What's up?"<br>I look away and purse my lips, suddenly feeling like I can't bring myself to tell him about everything at all. I close my eyes and build my courage, and Oliver waits patiently for me to compose myself.  
>I look back to him and see that he is watching me very carefully, but offering a kind of comfort with his gaze that I have learned to trust in him over the time I have known him, and it is enough to coax me to talk again, "When my Dad took my gun... there was a reason he did it. I... I did something," I explain poorly. But Oliver doesn't look confused, or annoyed that I haven't explained myself any better. He just relaxes his face and waits for me to form the words in my head, I kind of get the feeling that he has been waiting for me to tell him this for a long time.<br>I feel my throat tense as I try to speak, so I take a deep breath, "I killed someone… a kid… Shot him when The Prison was attacked... He was part of The Governor's military... an' the kid was running away... But he ran into me, an' Hershel, Beth an' Judith... I jus'... I jus' couldn't risk it..." I confess, staring down at my lap in shame.  
>"That's okay though. He could've killed you guys... Carl, you did the righ-" Oliver begins.<br>"No. It... it was in cold blood... I- he was handing over his weapons, an'... I still shot 'im." There... I said it; the last detail. The last detail that will cause Oliver to hate me and lose any and all respect he had for me. I watch him, feeling tears fighting their way from my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Oliver purses his lips and shifts his weight in his seat.  
>"It doesn't matter... You did what you had to do," he says, staring at me and nodding a little as he talks.<br>Relief and appreciation seems to engulf me for a moment, but I feel myself becoming irritated by his words, rather than comforted. _How can he say that?!_ I had believed that 'I did what I had to do' for so long! Only lately have I become aware of how unfathomably diverse that the statement really is. There is an invisible line between, the right 'I did what I had to do', and the very wrong 'I did what I had to do'... and it is confusing to understand where you are on the line. Extremely confusing.  
>I glare at Oliver, "I know. But..." I can't finish. I can't think of how to put my thoughts into words. I just stare at Oliver, and he stares right back with an unreadable expression, and it is making me mad.<br>"Have you ever killed anyone else?" Oliver asks, ignoring my temper.  
>I sigh, feeling my irritation grow as I narrow my eyes at him. But I'm not angry at him. I don't know why I feel so mad. I just hate how everything has turned out. I hate what this world has made me do, and I hate myself for doing it. But despite my temper, Oliver isn't deterred. He holds his ground and simply braces himself for any kind of reply I am about to give.<br>Finally, I compose myself and nod, "My Mom."  
>There is a long silence, and neither me or Oliver move a muscle. <em>I wonder what Oliver thinks of me now.I wonder if he is disappointed in me. I wonder if he will ever be able to look at me the same way again. I wouldn't blame him. I can't even look at me the same way anymore.<em>  
>Oliver continues to watch me, until finally, out of irritation; I break the tense silence, "On the day Judith was born. A prisoner, Andrew let a load of walkers out of D-Block, 'cause back then we hadn't cleared it yet. But, we had to run. I escaped into the tombs with Mom and Maggie, " I wince slightly as I talk, because the words bring back the awful memories of what happened down there, "An', we got to the boiler room... but Mom went into labour... In the end, Maggie had to cut her open for a C-section, but Mom was losing too much blood… I couldn't save 'er..." I can't stop my breath from hitching, as I remember the last thing my mom said to me, 'Don't let the world spoil you. If it's easy, don't do it', but I've failed her. I've let it spoil me already. I'm letting it turn me into a monster. I don't want Oliver to see me like that. But he will. He probably already does.<br>"I shot her... I shot my Mom," I say finally, feeling my tears fight their way from my eyes.

**Oliver's POV**

_Oh, Carl..._  
>Without permission from my mind, I lean over and wrap my arms around him. Carl stays still for a moment, but I feel him rest into me too, and slowly lift his hands to envelope my middle into a bear hug. He buries his face into my shoulder and even though I won't say anything, I can tell that he is crying. I feel his silent tears soak into my shirt and I only squeeze him tighter.<p>

We stay like this for a moment, until we both sit up and I offer the teenager a small comforting smile, which he does his best to return.  
>"I'm glad you told me," I say truthfully.<br>Carl nods and looks down at his hands, "Me too," he mutters quietly. He purses his lips before talking again, "I caused another man do die… Dale. A walker got him," he tells me. I furrow my brow, about to ask him how that was his fault, but Carl answers before I say anything, "I snuck out. Found a walker stuck in the mud, an' I was messin' with it. Thinkin' it couldn't get me. But it got out, and I ran away. Too dumb and scared to shoot it… it followed me, found Dale, and then ripped him apart," he explains slowly, glaring at me. I stare at Carl, frowning a little. I don't know if he is trying to scare me, or if he just doesn't know another way to tell me this.  
>"Look, you can be as angry as you want at me, for whatever reason it is that you feel like you have to be. Okay? You can just sit here. You can glare. You can cry. Shout. Scream. Fucking hit me for all I care. Either way, I'm not letting you just push me away like you're trying to. I'm not afraid of you, Carl. And, I sure as hell am not gonna think you're some psycho-nut-job who kills kids and tickles walkers all day. I get it. I've done bad stuff too," I tell him.<br>Carl watches me for a moment, and I am relieved when his face softens slightly. Not a lot, but I saw it. He sighs and looks ahead, quickly wiping a tear that I pretend not to notice. "I wouldn't hit you. An'… it was rocks… I was throwing rocks, at the walker. I wasn't tickling it," he corrects me, trying to be serious, but when I glance at him and scoff, Carl allows his lips to curve into a small smile too.  
>I kind of stares at me for a moment, and I furrow my brow, wondering what he is thinking. But when I do this, Carl averts his eyes and shakes his head a little, "We should get some sleep. I don't know what the plan is for tomorrow, but I don't think it'll be soccer," he says nonchalantly, rubbing his tired eyes.<br>I nod, "I'm gonna change. Somewhere I won't be peeped on," I announce in jest, grabbing my pyjamas and leaving the office, smirking at Carl before I go to mock him for catching me change this morning, to which I definitely see him blush before I turn out of the door. I think this morning surprised him, to say the least.

When I return a few minutes later, I grin as I see an already zonked out Carl splayed across the floor on his stomach, with one arm stretched across the floor and the other folded at an odd angle behind his back. _He can't be comfortable like that. Can he?_ **_I don't know. He seems pretty out of it._**  
>I drop the remainder of my clothes on top of Carl's duffel bag, but as I do I see something smooth and wooden sticking out of it. I can't see much in the dim lighting but my curiosity gets the better of me. I crouch down and pull what I realise is a picture frame out of his bag. I go over to the window and hold it under the moonlight, getting a better view of the picture. It's a family portrait, Carl's family portrait.<br>I recognise Rick; shaven (like I have never seen him before) and with a clean shirt and tie on. My eyes widen as I see Carl. He's so young! Maybe 9 or 10, and he's adorable! To this day, I have never seen him smile so widely, and I probably never will. There's another woman in the picture, who I know is Lori, Carl's Mom. She's beautiful, and I can see instantly where Carl gets his dark, smooth hair from, and his freckled cheeks.  
>"Snoop," I startle at his voice and swivel around to look at him. I'm expecting him to be fuming at me, but he's still lead on the floor in that unnatural position with only one eye open as he smirks at me, and I can't help but giggle like an idiot at seeing him looking so ridiculous.<br>"You were so cute back then. What happened?" I joke, with unintentional truth behind my words. Not that Carl isn't cute. Or whatever… I mean, he's cute. Oh, whatever. What I mean is; he looks so innocent in the picture, like a normal child. But now it's obvious that Carl is not this boy anymore, far from it in fact. So far from it that the two could be classed as completely separate individuals… separate species maybe. But that's what this world does to you now. I could say the same for myself, just on a lesser scale. I haven't had to go through nearly as much as Carl, nowhere near that much. Sure both my parents are dead, but it happened at the beginning and it all happened so fast. Me and Patrick just had to deal with it. We mourned for a long time, but we got on with everything eventually, just like so many others. Even with Patrick dead now, that was awful too. So awful. But I didn't have to put any of my own family down, and I haven't had to kill anyone... I can't even begin to imagine how much it can rip your soul apart to take a life.  
>Carl scoffs at my comment, before closing his eyes. I think he's drifted off to sleep again, but I'm proven wrong when he speaks again, "Jus' before she died… she told me, led there in the boiler room… she said… '<em>You are going to beat this world, I know you will. You are smart, and you are strong... and you are so brave, and I love you,"<em> he says, like he has said it a thousand times, over and over again in his head. But he stays with the side of his face pressed to the pillow and his eyes closed, talking in a tired, croaky voice, almost as if he's talking in his sleep, or he doesn't trust himself to acknowledge my presence in fear that he will become too emotional. I want to tell him to stop, that he doesn't have to tell me if this is too tough for him, but he doesn't stop talking. _"__You gotta do what's right, baby. You promise me you'll always do what's right... It's so easy to do the wrong thing in this world... So, if it feels wrong don't do it, alright? If it feels easy don't do it, don't let this world spoil you…_" he hesitates, and his eyebrows knit into a frown as he finishes, almost like he disagrees with the words, "_You're so good… my sweet boy… Best thing I ever did, and I love you... I love you… My sweet, sweet, boy… I love you._"  
>I just stand there, with his family portrait hanging limply by my side, and tears welling in my eyes as I stare down at the boy who I have fallen in love with. I can't deny it. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but I am completely love struck by the young Grimes.<br>His eyes finally open and meet mine, and tears stream down my cheeks and drip to the office floor at my feet. I feel paralysed, I feel like I can't breath, but in no way that my inhaler can help. This is an overwhelmed feeling. He's done it. He's managed to scare me. Terrify me. But I'm not afraid of him. I'm afraid of what this world is doing to him.  
>"You okay?" he asks dubiously, slowly pushing himself to sit up.<br>I manage to nod, lifting my free hand to wipe the currant of tears that relentlessly fall from my eyes, "Y-yeah. I just… I didn't- I didn't think I could cry like this... s-since Patrick."  
>Carl purses his lips and leans against the wall with his knees folded under him, "Sorry," he apologises. I laugh. I don't know why. Maybe it was just the astonishment that Carl seems so outwardly undeterred by everything that he has just said, or maybe it's that I finally have accepted the extent of how I feel about him.<br>Carl picks at the skin on his fingers, "I think about what she told me all the time. I just wanted you to hear her too - I mean, what she said - hear what she said," Carl continues.  
>I nod, "Y-yeah…" I sit beside him, leaving his family portrait in his duffel bag as I go. I fold my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, staring out at nothing as I silently process what I have just heard. "H-how… how did you do it?" I mutter into my knees, wiping my stupid tears on my jeans.<br>I see Carl frown in confusion out of my peripheral vision, "Uh… same way you'd shoot normally. Aim and pull th-" he begins.  
>"No. No, I mean… god, I mean that. How did you just say that without breaking down. How have you just, come back, from everything that you've had to do? How have you done it? I-I can't even… I mean. I don't even know how to ask," I try to assemble the fumbled thoughts in my exhausted mind<br>"Oliver…" Carl says, and I finally bring myself to look at him, wiping the last few, stray tears that fall from my eyes as I nod to him. "I haven't… I haven't come back from it."  
>His words seem to ring through my whole being. "What? W-why'd you say that?" I ask quietly, feeling my eyelashes sticking together from my drying tears. Carl opens his mouth to tell me, but he stops himself and stares down at his lap. I watch him. Whatever is making him feel this way, it's really bothering him.<br>"It doesn't matter... I'm tired," is all he says, before moving to his sleeping bag and beginning to pull it over himself.  
>I don't know what to say, so I say the only thing I am certain of, "You're okay Carl. Maybe you haven't come back from it all yet. But you will... and you'll be okay," I say, still sitting at the end of his make-shift bed. Carl nods, and fakes a small smile at me. I stand up and go to my own bed, "Night Man."<br>I can tell that Carl doesn't want to speak anymore, so I leave him to his thoughts and roll over under my sleeping bag.


	12. Chapter 12 Kissing Italian Boys

**Carl's POV**

I wake up alone in the office. I sit up and rub the back of my neck, because I slept in a weird position so it's hurting a little. _I wonder where Oliver went._ I dress, go to brush my teeth, and then head out to look for anyone around The Prison; crossing the back yard and heading across the courtyard. I realise from the position of the sun that it has gone 8:00a.m. _Dammit, I've overslept, again_. _Why doesn't anyone ever just wake me up anymore?_  
>"N-no, I'm not saying I'll tell him."<br>I come to a halt at Oliver's voice, and turn to see him sat alone on the gravel of the courtyard with his back leant against the wall of the third main building. He hasn't seen me yet, and is staring down at his lap, scratching at his jeans.  
>"He won't find out, I'm just wondering what he'd think if I ever did tell him," I hear him mumble. <em>Is he… is he talking to himself?<em>  
>"Oh, uh… mornin'. You alright?" I ask, walking over to him.<br>Oliver startles at my voice and ends his solitary conversation, "Oh-uh… h-hey Man," he stutters nervously.  
>I sit opposite him with my legs crossed, cocking an eyebrow at him, "You're weird. You know that?" I ask in jest, smirking at him.<br>Oliver chuckles awkwardly, "Y-yeah. I know," he averts his eyes, and scratches his eyebrow with his thumb, "Uh. Turns out we don't have any chores to do yet. Your dad told me to just have a few hours off… uh, to relax and all that. Wants you to do the same too," he tells me.  
>I furrow my brow, "When'd he say that?"<br>"This morning; he was in The Office Blocks, but you were still out of it. I tried to wake you but you just mumbled something about string beans, and then told me to piss off," Oliver tells me, suppressing his chuckle.  
>I laugh. "Really? Jeeze," I chuckle, composing myself again and shaking my head.<br>Oliver grins and nods, "Yeah. You did. Why string beans? Why not, macaroni, or pigs feet?" he mocks. I can't help but giggle like an idiot, and Oliver bites his lip before continuing, "You were pretty tired, after everything last night," he says dubiously.  
>I avert my eyes to my trekking boots, thinking about everything I told Oliver last night. I'm glad I told him, and I'm grateful for him being so understanding about it all. I was so afraid that he would hate me. So afraid that I tried to <em>make<em> him hate me, so that I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore... but he's still here.  
>"Did he say anything about what they're gonna do about the fence," I ask, bringing my thoughts back to the 'everything' last night that Oliver was really talking about.<br>Oliver chews his lip, "Dunno… it's pretty bad. Rick said he's just had to board it up, for now," he tells me, squinting from the sun as a cloud moves out of its shine, lighting up the whole prison again.  
>"It's not gonna hold for long," I say truthfully, gritting my teeth as I begin to feel annoyed again. I don't even know why I'm irritated. I mean, the fences were always going to come down sooner or later. I was hoping later, so that we would have time to make a solution. But, I guess this was 'later', really… we have been here for almost 8 months now. Dad should have done something about the fences already. Taking out clusters wasn't enough, and he should have known that.<br>"It was always gonna happen… at least no one was hurt when it finally did. Carl, what happened was no one's fault," Oliver's trusted voice snaps me out of my thoughts, as if he is reading them.  
>I narrow my eyes at him. <em>Who does he think he is - reading my thoughts so easily?<em> But I soften my face when I realise that this is ridiculous, and I nod, "Yeah. I know," I mutter, picking at the souls of my boots.  
>"Well then. Let's get to that whole 'relaxing' and 'time off' thing your Dad thinks is so great for us, yeah?" he jokes, scooting forwards to sit beside me out of the shade he was in when he was sat against the wall.<p>

**Oliver's POV**

I lean back and lie down on the warm gravel floor, letting the hot surface heat up my sore spine and shoulder - after the shock from the damn kick back, it's a real relief. I let my head rest on my arm, and cup over by brow with my other hand to shade my eyes. I watch the clouds blow across the sky and smile at the shapes that they make, before glancing at Carl, noticing that he is watching me for some reason, "What?" I ask, squinting from the sun as I drop my hand.  
>He looks away quickly, "N-n-nothing."<br>I smirk at him and pat the ground next to me, "Come here. Look," I rest my head back again and motion up to the sky. He hesitates, but leans back too, resting his head on his hand like I am, and bending his leg at the knee with his other hand on his stomach.  
>"Hmpf… Looks like a walker," he mumbles blankly, squinting up at the sky.<br>I breathe a chuckle and nod in agreement, "Yeah… I think just about everything does after long enough… But maybe, it could be… a dog, or a fish, or something non-dead?" I try, aiming to coax the slither of optimism out of my stubborn best friend that I know is in there, no matter how hard his protective shell may be.  
>But alas, Carl shakes his head and continues to frown at the bumpy cloud, "Nope. It's definitely a walker," he states.<br>I roll my head to look at him and chuckle, "You're incorrigible," I mutter in jest. He smirks as he stares up at the clouds, and I find myself gazing at him for longer than I mean to; marvelling at the freckles on his cheeks, his relaxed and slightly parted lips and how they twitch every few moments as he examines the sky. My eyes glide down, following the outline of his torso, to his hand that is rested on his abdomen. I watch as he subconsciously taps a random tune with his index finger into his shirt, as his hand slowly rises and falls a little as he breathes.  
>"You okay?"<br>I startle at his voice and look up to him, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment at being caught staring at him. "Y-yeah… I was just… uh, n-nothing," I awkwardly stumble over my words and look away from him, staring up to the sky and being as nonchalant as I can. But I know that my cheeks are burning. _Jesus! You're such a dumb ass Oliver!_  
>To my relief, Carl seems to let my creepy behaviour go though. So, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting my behaviour go too, as I rest my head on my palm. <em>I wonder how many people in the world are able to just relax like this.<em> _I would feel confident enough to say that me and Carl are probably the only few people that are doing this right now, in this moment. **Yeah. It's nice to just enjoy it for once.** It's strange too, but I guess it makes me appreciate it a lot mo-_  
>My thoughts cut off as something blocks the sun above me. I am about to open my eyes to look at whatever it is, but before I get the chance; I feel Carl suddenly press his lips to mine. <em>What!? Wait. What?!<em>  
>Completely caught off guard; my eyes snap open and I flinch a little. But before I can react to his kiss, he parts our lips and leans up slightly. <em>What the fuck?<em> I stare at him and my breathing hitches, unable to think of words to say as he stares at me, mere inches away from my face with his lips still parted. _Oh my god!_  
>He purses his lips, a frown knitting itself over his eyebrows as he waits for me to say something, and I watch him grow irritated at my silence, "I'm sorry," he seems to beg, quickly sitting up properly and moving away. <em>Oh, god! What just happened?!<em> I prop myself up on my elbows and stare at him, unable to bring words to my stuttering mouth. He avoids my gaze, staring in the complete opposite direction of me, and I can see that he is scrunching up his face. _What the hell just happened? Wait. Did that even just happen at all?!_  
>"I'-I'm sorry," he whispers again, and I can hear the humiliation and shame in his cracking voice.<br>I gulp and sit up properly, clumsily folding my legs underneath me, "Uh… N-no, it's fine," I say. _It's the only honest thing that my convulsing mind can think of to tell him…_  
>There is a long, painfully awkward pause, and Carl continues to avoid my eyes. I bite my lip, feeling them still tingling from where he kissed me. <strong><em>I think you need to talk to him Oliver. You need to finally get this out in the open.<em>** I sigh and sit on my knees, almost having to force my next words from my throat, "What's you're deal, Carl," I ask slowly.  
>Carl finally looks at me, furrowing his eyebrows, "What?" he asks with a mixture of confusion and irritation.<br>I sigh and chew the inside of my lip, building my courage before answering him, "Do you… you know?.. Are you into guys, or girls?" I ask, deciding to just be blunt about it, but still going at it with a certain sort of weariness behind the question.  
>He suddenly glares at me, scowling with a ferociousness I have never seen in the boy. I see and hear his breathing catch, "I'm not gay! I-I mean… I don't kn-… For fuck sake! Why do you have to put a damn label on everything? Does it even matter?" he rants nervously. My brow raises; admittedly surprised by his cussing, because I rarely hear him swear so much, so I know that he is especially distressed.<br>I shake my head and sit forward a little, leaning on my hands and feeling the hot gravel dent my palms, "N-no. It doesn't matter… I was just, curious… you know?.. Because, you just k- uh. I mean, because I don't even know either," I try to cover up for awkwardly bringing up the kiss; accidentally revealing that I don't know about my own sexuality in the process. _Oh shit!_ Carl stares at me and stutters with the words he can't seem to form. _Shit, shit!_  
>I cross my arms and glare at him, like he was at me, "Shit, Man… There's no need to get so mad at me… Jeeze. Who the hell pissed in your cereal?!" I retort, trying to cover up for my confession.<br>Carl stares at me, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to force his words from his throat, "L-look! I-I… I-" he suddenly blurts out, but struggles to finish. He stares at me for a long moment, and I watch as his lip quivers from his nerves. He closes his eyes and takes a deep and forced breath before continuing, "I like you Oliver. I… really, like you… and, I-I don't know if I'm supposed to… and, I can't… talk, to anyone about it, because nobody else… thinks, like this… nobody else thinks like I do!" he barely keeps from yelling at me.  
>I stare at him, completely speechless. My mouth hangs open, trying to form words, but my brain is only thinking of what he has just confessed to me. <em>Carl, likes me? Me? Carl Grimes - the boy who refuses to show his emotions to anyone, just confessed that he likes someone… me, no less!<em> At my silence, Carl glares harder at me and continues making his case through gritted teeth, "An' I can never tell if you…" he cringes as he says his next words, his cheeks heating up to scarlet, "-might, like me too… because… you're always so damn s-" but I don't let him finish.

Acting on an alarmingly unpredictable mixture of adrenaline, impulse and testosterone… I feel myself lean forward and kiss him.

I have no idea what I'm doing and I don't know whether Carl is even going to be okay with this; even though he did kiss me first, but, The Grimes can be a little… unpredictable, at the best of times. So, I just keep my face in the same place, with my lips held to his for a moment, just waiting (and expecting) him to shove me away, or to move away himself. But a few eternal moments pass, in pure, agonising silence, and I can almost hear the clogs working overtime in Carl's brain.

But then, he starts moving...

He relaxes, and then begins pressing his lips to mine. And I kiss him back. And as our mouths move with each other, my hand moves on impulse and finds the curve of his cheek, gently holding him there and feeling my heart race.  
>His breathing catches and he pulls away slightly, panting a little. I feel breathless, but in a new way, that doesn't make me feel like my wind pipe is closing. I don't know how to explain it, other than it feels curious and unpredictable.<br>I consider moving in and kissing him again, craving that breathless feeling to amplify, but I don't want to do anything he doesn't, so I let him decide how he wants to do this. Carl seems to study me for a moment, and I watch in awe as his pupils expand to almost hide his electrifying, blue orbs, with just a few millimetres of the colour hiding behind them.  
>But to my surprise, after a moment, he leans forward and kisses me again, moving forward to kneel down right beside me, so that his left leg is pressed to my left. Both of us completely forgetting the mild argument we were just having, as we continue our inexperienced and exciting lip lock.<br>I raise my hand, grazing it up his forearm to eventually rest it on his neck, just below his jaw line, with the ends of my fingers tangling into his perfect, brown hair, feeling the heat radiating off of it from the sun, soaking into my skin. Carl responds by cupping my cheek with his hand and pulling me closer to him. Goose-bumps ripple down my neck and entire body, as he gently strokes his thumb just under my ear. _Oh, wow._  
>I instinctively open my mouth slightly as we kiss, and almost without hesitation, Carl darts his tongue through my lips a little bit, just once, but it causes me to gasp into his mouth. <em>Shit! Where'd he learn to do that?<em> My eyebrows arch in surprised pleasure, and I move a little closer to him, sliding my hand to the back of his neck, as we continue to kiss.  
>Maybe it lasted for just a few seconds, or minutes, hours even. I have no idea. It's impossible to tell when something this unexpected and amazing happens. But eventually, we let our lips part with a loud, cliché smack. It would've made me laugh in any other circumstance. But I'm too giddy to laugh, instead I open my eyes and gaze into Carl's perfect, periwinkle orbs, and he stares right back at me, exchanging our hurried and hitching breaths.<br>After a short pause, I let out a breathy, nervous chuckle, "I'm-I'm so damn what?" I ask in a whisper, smirking as I remind him of the sentence I interrupted before.  
>He stares at me, panting a little, before slowly furrowing his brow, obviously trying to remember what he was going to tell me. "Sarcastic… Oliver… you're so damn sarcastic," he finally finishes, and chews his lower lip, suppressing a chuckle and I can see his freckled cheeks flush dark crimson. I smile and tilt my head as I look at him, marvelling at his beauty. I know guys aren't supposed to be beautiful, but I can't think of another word to describe him.<br>"Oliver?" he begins and I nod in response, "What's your last name?" he asks.  
>I grin at him and let out a chuckle. <em>Oh yeah. He doesn't know. <strong>Oliver, I don't think anyone does.<strong>_It's strange that I have gone this whole time without anyone knowing my surname. I know Patrick never told anyone, but that was because he was too guilty. It's not like its some big secret or anything, like if I reveal it, I will give up some massive mystery or whatever. It's just not a particularly vital part of an individual anymore. So it means a lot that Carl is interested enough to ask me. I smile at him, seeing his shiny, black holes for eyes.

"It's, De Luca... Oliver De Luca."

A wide smile spreads across Carl's lips and the corners of his eyes crinkle a little, he nods in approval, "I like it. Suits you... _Oliver De Luca_," he tries my name out, testing how is feels on his tongue, the very tongue that was just invading my mouth only moments ago. I get more goose-bumps as my mind trails off to our kiss. **_Control yourself, Oliver._**  
>"Is it Spanish?" he asks, taking a guess at my heritage; which I don't think I have ever told anyone before either.<br>I shake my head, "Italian. On my Mom's side. My Dad took her surname when they got married," I answer him.  
>Carl nods, "D'you know any?" he asks.<br>"What - Italian?"  
>"Uh huh."<br>I furrow my brow, trying to remember the stuff my mom used to yell at me and Patrick, if we pissed her off, "Uh, yeah. Some, I guess," I say.  
>Carl raises his brow, "Well, can you say somethin'?" he insists, with that tentative impatience that I have gotten so used to from the teenager.<br>I chuckle and nod, "Uh…" my eyes roll to the back of my head as I recollect, and then I think of something and clear my throat, sitting up a little more, "_I piatti non si lavano_," I say, and then glance at him with my eyebrow cocked a little.  
>Carl stares at me, and I can hear his breathing quicken as he bites his lip, "Wh-what does it mean?" he kind of struggles to ask, and his pupils blow to hide the last few slivers of blueness behind them.<br>I smirk at his reaction, feeling myself blush, "Uh... The dishes won't wash themselves," I translate.  
>"O-oh," Carl scoffs, and we both burst out laughing. I think that was a little less climactic than he thought it would be.<br>Carl grins at me and glances at my lips for a moment. I chew the inside of my lip, getting the feeling that he wants to kiss me again, and butterflies seem to explode in my stomach. But I pretend not to notice his hint, and instead I stand up, "Come on… we should head back," I say, holding my hand out for him. He tenses his mouth, and I can tell that he is fighting the urge to protest, but he relents and he takes my hand.  
>I pull him up and we sort of stand there for a moment, watching each other. <em>What will Carl want after this? <strong>I don't know.<strong> Well, what do we do now though? Will he tell anyone? Or, will we just go back to being friends for a while? **I don't want to just, go back though…** No, I don't either._  
>I stare into each of his eyes individually, and Carl does the same with me, until finally, he does the last thing I ever expected him to do, even after what we just shared together. But to my relief, Carl leans into me and hugs me. I hug him back and bury my face in the crook of his neck, unable to stop the smile on my lips as I press them to his nape.<br>"Thank you," Carl whispers, moving his lips on my neck as he speaks.  
>I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of his lips on my skin before responding, "For what?" I whisper curiously.<br>He pulls away and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, "I... I don't know. Just... thanks?" he kind of asks, his nerves getting the better of him. _I've never really thought of Carl as sweet before, but seeing him this nervous is completely adorable._  
>I chuckle, "Well, you're welcome, I guess... thank you, too. You big sap," I smirk at him.<br>Carl chuckles nervously, before straightening his face and staring at me, "Wh-what do we do now?" he asks.  
>I watch him for a moment, "I... I don't know… I guess… we just, figure it out," I say quietly.<br>Carl stares at me, until finally, he nods, and lifts a hand and motions it back to the direction of the main building, "W-we should go back. You know… 'cause they'll be looking for us soon for chores," he says. I am wondering if it would bother Carl if anyone found out about what we just shared together.  
>Carl seems to catch on to what I am thinking, because he chews his lip and looks away, "One day… but, not yet," he says quietly. "I'm not ashamed. I'm jus'… n-not ready," he whispers to himself, but talks to me. I nod in understanding, and without another word, Carl heads back to The Prison. I feel him pulling me to come with him; because despite his confliction, he is still holding onto my hand with his fingers laced comfortably into my own as we walk together.<br>But as soon as we spot Michonne out by the front getting ready to burn the bodies, we let go of each other. I know that I could never be ashamed of liking Carl like this. But like he said; we're just not ready for people to know about whatever this is yet, because truthfully, we still have to figure it out ourselves.  
>"I'm gonna go see if Michonne wants a hand with burning the bodies," I tell Carl solemnly.<br>He looks a little disheartened, but nods, "Oh, right," he says. We both know that he won't be allowed to go out of the prison.  
>I glance over at Patrick's grave, still with his glasses tucked against the rock over his grave, "I have to," I mutter, slowly looking back to The Grimes.<br>"I know, Oliver…" Carl purses his lips into a small smile. He understands why I want to go. Patrick died from the virus, the same virus that has almost ruined our home in just a few days. To help burn the bodies, it might just help me let go of it all… to let go of Patrick… and to finally rid my home of the thing that almost brought it crashing to the ground.  
>I put my hands on either side of Carl's head just behind his ears, not caring about what others think right now. But Carl doesn't protest, so, I gently pull him closer and plant a quick kiss on his forehead, before nonchalantly letting go and patting him on the shoulder. He suppresses a smile, tensing his lips and blushing. <em>Cute.<em>  
>"I'll jus'… go find Dad," he says awkwardly.<br>I nod, "See you in a bit."  
>"Stay safe," he whispers, and I nod. Carl turns, suppressing a smile as he walks back down towards C-Block. I turn around too, and walk over to Michonne; who is hauling the last few bodies into the trailer behind the truck.<br>"Can I join you?" I offer.  
>Michonne smiles and nods, "Sure. Glad to have an extra hand," she says.<br>I smile and help Michonne lift another few dead walkers into the boot, and just as we do, Rick walks over to the trough and splashes his face with water, before coming over to me and Michonne, "You need some help with that?" he asks, rubbing the excess water from his hand over the back of his neck.  
>Michonne smiles, but shakes her head, "No. Do your thing, we got it covered," she says, tapping me on the elbow.<br>Rick smiles and nods a little to her, before beginning to turn to leave, "Uh, Sir. Carl was lookin' for you," I tell him, he glances at me and gives me a subtle smile that only a True Grimes can give, as I see Carl give me the same smile on many occasions.  
>"Alright. Thanks, Oliver," he says, nodding.<br>I nod back, and kind of blush a little as I think of what me and his son just did together. But I push the thoughts to the back of my head and continue to help Michonne load up the truck.  
>"You headin' out?" I hear Hershel's southern drawl that I have become so fond of over the last few months.<br>I nod and Michonne walks over to him, "You wanna come?" she asks with a smile.  
>Hershel shifts his gaze to me, "Hell yeah!" he grins.<br>"Hop in kid," Michonne says, getting into the drivers seat.  
>"'kay," I say. I walk past Hershel as he climbs into the boot, "Mr. Greene, I can ride in the back if you want?" I offer the old man, as he struggles to hoist himself up.<br>He shakes his head and waves me away, "I'm alright. One leg never stopped me," he chuckles.  
>I smile and nod, "Okay Sir."<br>"Oliver?" he says, as I begin to walk towards the passenger seat. I stop and turn to him with my brow raised, "Call me, Hershel," he says warmly.  
>I nod and chuckle, "Okay, Hershel," I say, using his name seems to feel weird, and I furrow my eyebrows a little to myself. Hershel's thick, white beard shakes as he laughs at my expression and I chuckle too as I relax my face again.<br>I climb in the passenger seat and am surprised to see the way Michonne is looking at me, my smile drops and I suddenly feel very self conscious, "What?" I ask, and when she doesn't answer right away, I impatiently nudge her elbow.  
>"Oh, nothin'… jus' thinkin'," she says coyly, giving me a weirdly knowing smile, "You mean a lot to him, you know that?" she adds.<br>I furrow my brow, "Who? Hershel?" I ask curiously.  
>Michonne shakes her head, "No, not him… well, I mean, Hershel thinks you're great an' all… but, I'm talking about, Carl. He's always talking about you... you two're pretty close, huh?" she smiles, raising her brow as she talks and only looking at me out of the corner of her eye.<br>I shift my gaze from her, trying to act as nonchalant as possible as I nod, "I guess."  
>"Well I think you two're good for each other. An' you make a cute pair," she says in complete jest. But despite the fact that she is totally joking, my whole body freezes and I stare at her, feeling my cheeks burn crimson. <em>Shit! Oh, fuck!<em>  
>She scoffs, "Jeeze, should I have said, you make a cute <em>couple<em>?" she sneers.  
>Again, she is only joking, but my mouth falls open in shock, "W-what? N-no! Stop... We... he- w-we're not-" I fall over my words and I regret ever deciding to join her and Hershel at all! <em>Did she see us? <strong>No, she couldn't have.<strong> We were in the courtyard; no one could have seen me and Carl._  
>"Oliver. Cool it kid! We've got work to do," she interrupts, slyly changing the subject as she sees how uncomfortable it has made me.<br>"I-I…" I fumble with my words, staring wide eyed at her. But shut my mouth and nod, awkwardly looking away from her and out of the window. I hear her suppress a chuckle, but I refuse to acknowledge her. _Jesus! This is embarrassing!_  
>She brings the truck to move, and we drive down to the main gates. I chew my lip and look ahead of me, readjusting in my seat to get more comfortable. I know my cheeks are still bright red, so I lift my hands and pretend to rest my head in them to hide my blushing.<br>Carl's right though, we don't need to put a label on ourselves. I'm Oliver De Luca, and he is Carl Grimes. It's as simple as that. Now that I know that he likes me too, I'm more excited than ever to continue living at the prison. No one needs to know about what just happened between me and Carl for now, we probably will just keep being close friends for a while; get to figuring ourselves out a little more before we do anything rash or whatever. It's exciting to think about the future, but daunting at the same time. Well, it's terrifying actually. After loosing my brother so suddenly, it has only made me realise what limited time I have with everyone, especially with Carl.

Michonne finally stops the truck a few miles into the woods outside of the prison, and the three of us file out of the vehicle.  
>We all help each other to pull a body out of the boot, gently setting the woman down on a small clearing near the truck, and doing the same with others, piling them on top of each other. I try not to look at the faces as I lay them down in their final resting place.<br>"I'll get the gasoline," I announce, walking back to the truck. I haul out two large containers of gas, and carry them over to the pile of bodies. I hand one to Michonne and we begin to pour the flammable liquid over the dead.  
>When my barrel is empty, I step back and sit on the boot of the truck with Hershel and he puts his hand on my back to comfort me, "You did good, Son," he says, I think praising me for not only my work here, but defending the prison with Rick and Carl last night.<br>"You did good too Si- uh, Hershel," I correct myself.  
>The man breaths a laugh through his nose at my mistake, "Thank you, Son," he nods.<br>Michonne empties the last of her barrel and walks over to us. "Okay," she says, and Hershel fishes out his matches from his pocket and hands them to her with an empathetic smile. We all walk over to the pile of bodies and Michonne lights a match, before throwing it onto the heap. I squint as they light up with an ominous FWOOMP.  
>We watch the bodies' burn for a moment, silently paying tribute to the deceased, and I think of my brother for a moment. <em>I'll miss you Pat.<em>  
>Michonne turns around and walks back towards the truck, and I follow with Hershel behind. He takes off his gloves and puts them on the side of the truck and I suddenly jump at a heavy thud in front of me.<br>Faster than I can understand, I catch a glimpse of Michonne's limp body sprawled across the grass as my feet, and then a tall, dark figure approaches me. But too fast for me to react, the stranger shoves the butt end of a gun into my temple, slicing into my skin.

**CRACK!**

I slam to the woods' floor, wincing from the excruciating pain in my head and feeling my warm blood stream from my wound, and down my face.

And as I black out, everything just seems to stop.

Notes

Thanks to **Prettyprincess45** for telling me this chapter got all loopy xxx I sorted the commands out xx

Also thanks to** Nora** and **Eli** for reviewing, too! You guys rock! XXX


	13. Chapter 13 Too Far Gone

_One thing wrong with this site, it won't let me reply to reviews, so I will just do it here like most others do :)_

**_Eli _**_T__hank you, yeah, I wanted their relationship to be slow and to work its way in there :) if you wanna read the rest (as the story is up to season 5 now) go check it out on the walking dead fanfiction site X_

**_Prettyprincess45_**_ hehe, thanks x and thanks for the heads up about the duff chappy x and I'm glad to hear that you already read my story and took the time to review xxx_

**_Nora _**_Thank you so much! I will! xx__  
><em>

**_westerlo4 _**_WESTERLO4! XD nuf said._

_Also, to ya'll, I fixed the last chapter so you can read Carl and Oliver's first kiss in peace x_**  
><strong>

_Happy reading xx :)_

Beginning of chapter

**Carl's POV**

Dad wasn't in C-Block. Sasha told me that I'd just missed him. So I head over to The Office Blocks to check there. But when he isn't there either, I quickly go to mine and Oliver's office to grab my sheriffs' hat, noticing that Oliver has left his beanie in here too, so I stuff it into my back jeans pocket, before heading back out to go and find Dad - in the gardens I'm guessing, back to 'Playing Farmer'.  
>I head down The Office Block corridor, grinning to myself as my mind drifts to Oliver, again. I didn't know that kissing was like that, or maybe it's only like that with Oliver. Either way, and I'd never say this out loud, it was amazing – for lack of a better word. I know that we're going to keep it quiet for a little while, whatever this 'it' is. We'll get a grip on ourselves a little more first. I need to think of a way to tell my dad too. I don't have a clue what he would think of the idea of me and Oliver, and it makes my stomach churn. To be honest, I don't even understand how I feel about me and Oliver either, but I know that I don't want whatever 'it' is to stop. Like I said; I really like Oliver… I really,<em>really<em> like him. And it's a relief to finally be okay with that, even if only he knows about it right now.  
>I push my thoughts to the back of my head as I see Dad heading down the driveway to the gates. I bring my legs to run after him, going past Michonne and Oliver in the car park, as they fill up the truck with the walkers from last night. But Oliver is busy lugging a particularly large-looking walker into the boot, so he doesn't see me. I leave him to it, and keep running for Dad.<br>"Hey! You didn't wake me up," I call after him.  
>He looks over his shoulder and smiles. "Thought I'd let you sleep in. I told Oliver to have a few hours off this mornin'. He said he'd tell you too when you woke up," Dad says, as I stand in front of him to get him to stop.<br>"Yeah, he told me," I say.  
>Dad nods. "I thought you two could spend some time playing soccer, or readin'. You know? Relax a little," he says, and I nod again. "You both had a good mornin' then?" he continues. <em>Uh… Yes, Dad. Yes we did.<em>  
>I nod and feel myself blushing, so I look away, "Uh - yeah. We were jus' in the courtyard," I say as nonchalantly as I can, purposely missing out the 'what' we were doing in the courtyard. "But I should help," I protest, ignoring my warm cheeks and looking at him again.<br>He nods. "Good. I gotta go talk to Daryl," he says.  
>"Right now?" I ask expectantly. I was kind of hoping that we could just go and do something normal. This morning has been so confusing already. I just wanted to do something to distract me from my jumbled mind, even if that 'something' is just Playing Farmer.<br>Dad stares at me for a moment, letting a smile spread across his mouth, "No… let's go," he confirms, patting me on the shoulder with his gardening gloves. I smile and we both head down to the garden together.  
>We begin our chores, and after a little while, just as Oliver, Michonne and Hershel are heading out to burn the bodies, Dad stops what he is doing and picks a peapod off of its stalk.<br>I run my fingers through the foliage beside me, enjoying the soft and living plants against my skin. Dad opens the pod and holds it out to me. I smile a little and take a few peas, bringing them to my lips and chewing on the sweet fresh vegetables. I sigh, looking around to the gates as I see the truck drive away, with Hershel perched in the boot.  
>I know that this is what my dad wants from me. To be normal. But I know that I can't just let go of everything I have done and seen in the past. But, I think that I can finally just accept it. So I do.<br>I let myself accept his wishes, and I do my chores.

When we finish tending the garden, we head back into the prison, "Oh. You can go see Judy now. We've got the medication… so, we'll be okay," Dad says.  
>I grin, "Really?" I ask in disbelief, and he nods. "Yes, awesome," I breathe, unable to subdue my happiness as I quicken my pace back to The Prison.<br>I go into The Office Blocks, while Dad makes his way to C-Block to look for Daryl. He didn't tell me why he has to look for him, but he said he would, when he told Daryl whatever it is that he needs so badly to tell him, so I let it go.  
>As I amble down The Office Block corridor, I realise that I am still smiling as my mind drifts to Oliver… again. <em>Jesus! I can't stop thinking about him! I'm getting a little worried. But, I have to admit… I like it.<em>  
>"Hey Carl," I hear Maggie. I look up to her and grin wider as I see her; she's sat with Beth and Judith at the desk in the main office area.<br>"Hi, Judy!" I can't contain my excitement as I rush over to my baby sister and pick her up from Beth's lap. Judith squeals ecstatically as I set her on my hip, and I kiss her repeatedly on her forehead. "Missed ya, Lil' Sis," I coo quietly to her, as she grins at me and reaches up to my hair._I'm so glad I can finally see her!_  
>"Gosh, she's missed you too," Beth chuckles at us.<br>I straighten my face. "Uh, y-yeah," I agree shyly. I can feel my cheeks heat up in embarrassment, because I am pretty sure that neither Greene has ever seen me so excited, "thanks… you know? For looking after her for the past few days," I say sincerely to Beth.  
>"You're welcome. She was a sweet heart. I'm jus' glad everything's gonna be okay now," Beth smiles, resting her head on Maggie's shoulder as they both watch Judith. I let her grab my thumb in her cubby hands, and she babbles something at it, making me unable to stop myself from laughing at her.<br>"How's your Dad, after everything?" Maggie asks me dubiously.  
>I nod. "I think he's gonna be alright," I answer truthfully. Maggie smiles, leaning forward to stroke Judith's head, before patting me on the shoulder. "How's Glenn? Is he still in A-Block?" I ask.<br>She nods. "Yeah. I was jus' in there with 'im. But he's gonna be fine soon. Jus' needs his rest. But he'll be okay," she says, and lets out a sigh of relief before continuing. "I think… everything's gonna be alri-"

**BOOM!**

We all startle horrifically, at a loud explosion from somewhere in the prison. It shakes the walls, and the ceiling crumbles from the earth shuddering blow. _What the heck was that?!_ Loud screams emit themselves from the office blocks, and Judith begins to wail hysterically in my arms, so I grip her tighter around me as my protective instincts kick in.  
>"What happened?" I pant, feeling my heart quicken and face contort with worry. Beth leaps up from her chair just as both Lizzie and Mika hurtle around the corner to us, shortly followed by Luke and Molly. They look terrified! Mika throws herself into Beth's arms, crying as she clings around Beth's shoulders.<br>"Carl! C'mon!" Maggie barks over Judith's and Mika's screams.  
>I panic for a moment. <em>What do I do with my sister?! I can't take her out there with me!<em> "L-Lizzie! Can you take Judith?" I beg the spooked child. Lizzie nods, gulping as I hand my crying baby sister to her. "You got her?!" I try to keep my voice calm, as Maggie and Beth begin to head down the corridor, walking, so that I can still catch up, but they look desperate, so I know I need to hurry.  
>"Y-yeah. I'll get her baby carrier."<br>I nod. "O-okay. Keep 'er safe," I say.  
>Lizzie nods breathlessly, "Alright," she confirms, gulping again as she turns to her shaking sister. "Mika, c'mon!" she cries, beckoning The Youngest Samuel Sister to follow her, as she and the rest of the kids head down to Judith and Beth's office to find the baby carrier.<br>I stare after Judith for a moment, her overwhelmed and innocent gaze meets mine and I feel a lump in my throat. _She'll be okay. She'll be okay._  
>But I know I have to go, so I spin on my heel and hurtle after Beth and Maggie, who have both already started running for the exit without me now. But I catch up with them just as they get to the door.<br>We run across the gravel, and out into the front, seeing Dad, Daryl and Tyreese sprinting from C-Block. "Get back!" Dad shouts, his gun drawn just as he meets us by the driveway gates. Confused and my heart racing, I look down to the front yard, towards where everyone else is staring. _What is i-_  
>But then, I see them. And I see him.<p>

The Governor.

An intimidating row of several trucks, lined up outside of our fences, with a merciless looking tank in the centre of the crowd of vehicles, with the monster perched on top of it. _No. No, no, no, no. He's dead… He's been gone for months._ Only now do I truly understand the great difference between 'dead' and 'gone'… If he was dead, he wouldn't be back. Gone; he can still come back… and he has. Just like, deep down, we all knew he would.  
>"Rick!" I flinch at the monster's voice. "Come down here… We need to talk."<br>I watch my Dad shift his weight on his hips and I can hear his breathing quicken as his panic sets in. _Oh, no. What does he want with him? Oh, god. What does he want?! What could he possibly still want from all of us?!_  
>"It's not up to me! There's a Council now, they run this place!" Dad tries, and I can hear the fear in his voice.<br>"Hershel, on The Council?" My stomach lurches to my throat. _No. No. They haven't… he hasn't…_  
>But to our horror, one of The Governor's soldiers goes over to one of the trucks. She holds out her arm, and I watch as Hershel steps out of the vehicle and limps with her to stand in front of the tank. I see out of the corner of my eye, Maggie clasp her hand desperately over her mouth to silence her panting, and my panic only grows.<br>"What about Michonne? She on The Council too?" The Governor says, almost mockingly, as another soldier grabs Michonne from a truck and pulls her to stand next to Hershel. _Oh god. Wait… wait. No…_  
>"Surely… this, Council o' yours, wouldn't be so irresponsible as to allow a child to be put at risk?"<br>Then the penny drops, along with both my stomach and heart. My eyes widen, and my knees knock, as a third soldier pulls a very weak, and a very bruised, Oliver, out from the truck. _NO!_  
>I freeze, feeling my breathing become shallow and panicked. Unable to move. Unable to think. Unable to feel. I just watch helplessly, as all three of my friends are made to kneel down in front of the tank. <em>This isn't real. This isn't happening! Please?<em> I stare hopelessly at my best friend, and wince as I see his crimson blood trickle down his poorly band-aided face. _No. No, no. Oliver. Please, no._  
>"I don't make decisions anymore!" my dad almost begs.<br>"You're making the decisions today Rick," The Governor says, "Come down here an' let's… let's have that talk."

**Oliver's POV**

_~ Earlier that day ~_

"Don't touch me!"  
><em>What?<em>

"Stay still."  
><em>Who is that?<em>

"Get off!"  
>I come too at Michonne's growl. Confused and dazed, I try to sit up. But I let out an involuntary cry as the throb radiates in my right temple. I wince, contorting my face as the pain is almost unbearable. <em>What happened to me? Where am I? Where are Hershel and Michonne?<em>  
>"Oliver. You alright?" I hear Hershel from somewhere in the room. But I can't answer him yet, because my throbbing head won't allow it.<br>"Glad you finally decided to join us, Son… thought we'd lost you for a sec there," I hear a stranger. I dare to open my eyes again, meeting an eye patch, and a grey eye to accompany it. Cold, and soulless; that's my first impression as I glare at the man, recognising him instantly through word of mouth only, as The Governor. _Who else would it be?_  
>"I apologise. I didn't mean to hit you so hard," he says. My breathing hitches as I wince again from the stabbing pain in my injured temple, and then I feel a wave of unwelcomed warmth run down my face. <em>Jeeze, I'm bleeding pretty badly<em>. "Let's get you cleaned up a bit, Son," The Governor says, taking my arm and pulling me to sit up, and my wrists tugs painfully against what I realise is my restraints. I try to hide my wincing, as the movement makes my head reel and the room spins uncomfortably around me. _Oh, shit. I'm going to yack._  
>Panting as my stomach does flips, and ignoring my wheezing lungs; I lean against the wall, glaring at him as he crouches down to me and dabs a wet rag over my wound, and then cleans the cut area with some anti-septic spray. But I flinch and pull away. "Hold still. I'm only tryin' to help you," he says, but not before roughly smacking a large band-aid over the gash on my temple. I almost double over from the pain, but I catch myself short and force myself not to yelp.<br>"Th-thanks," I retort through gritted teeth, bawling my binded hands to fists behind my back.  
>The governor tenses his jaw at me, I'd call it a grin, but I just can't bring myself to think he is able to offer one. He bobs a chess piece in his hands and stares at me, "Sarcastic… Oliver… you're so damn sarcastic," he says. My face drops. <em>He can't mean… Fuck. He saw us? He saw me and Carl? How? Oh, god. How long was he planning this?! What the fuck is wrong with him?! He's a psycho! He's a fucking psychopath!<em> I stare at him, suddenly very afraid of the man in front of me. I avert my eyes to the floor, feeling shivers run down my spine as I try not to throw up my deer jerky breakfast.  
>He breathes a short, dry sneer, before standing up again and going over to Hershel. He pulls him up by his bindings from the other room, and makes him sit on the seat beside Michonne to my left, as I stay sat on the floor.<br>The Governor pulls something wrapped in tin foul out of his pocket, still holding the king chess piece in his hand as he drops the tin foiled object into Hershel's lap, "You should eat. It's gonna be a long day. Nobody's gonna hurt you," he says. _Yeah, right. Sick, fuck!_ I resist the urge to say this, as he goes to sit on the other couch and rummages through some medical equipment.  
>I look at Hershel and he glances at me, giving me an 'are you alright?' look, and I nod to him. He doesn't look convinced, and I'm not sure I am either. But there's nothing we can do, so he turns back to the Governor again and responds to his comment, "I don't believe that," he tells him.<br>"I don't care."  
>"Jus' tell us what this is. Please?" Hershel tries again.<br>But the Governor doesn't stop sorting through his medical equipment on the other side of, what I realise is a camper van, "It isn't personal."  
>Michonne glances at me worriedly, with an anger behind her eyes that I have never seen in her before, and it is scaring me. I can feel the blood that The Governor left un-cleaned on my face, drying against my skin. I try to wipe it on my shoulder as it begins to itch my cheeks. But it doesn't help.<br>"Then what is it?" Hershel asks dubiously.  
>"Michonne, I want you to know…" The Governor ignores Hershel's question. "Penny. My daughter… she was dead. I know that now… I don't wanna hurt you. I don't wanna hurt anyone. I need the The Prison, that's it. There're people that I need to keep alive. An' you three're gonna help me take it. No one needs to die."<br>"I'm gonna kill you," Michonne says slowly. I stare at her, shocked by her worrisomely certain words.  
>"No you won't," The Governor counteracts her.<br>"I am gonna take y-" your other eye out and feed it to you, is what I want her to finish with.  
>But Hershel cuts her off, "Stop it," he scolds her tentatively, "You want The Prison?" he asks The Governor.<br>He turns to us a little and nods, "I'll take it. As peacefully as I can." I would say he reassures us, but his sentence only seems to translate to me as, 'Yes. I'll kill every last soul it takes to get it' and it makes my skin crawl.  
>"Governor?" Hershel raises his hands to gesture to him.<br>"Don't call me that," the man barks.  
>Hershel sighs and drops his hands. "Your people. Our people… we can find a way to live together. These people you need to keep alive… Do you love 'em?" he asks.<br>The Governor looks at him briefly, before going back to sorting his medical equipment. "You're a good man, Hershel. Better man than Rick," he says.  
>"Everything you've said. The way you've said to – you've changed. So has Rick," Hershel says. The Governor lets out a tired sigh, the same kind that reminds me of the sigh I'd have done when I used to have to wait in line for ages to buy Mom's groceries, when I'd just 'had enough' and wanted to go home.<br>"The two of us, will never be able to live together. Michonne an' I… will never be able to live together."  
>Hershel sits back, "We'll find a wa-"<br>The Governor spins around to face him, "I'VE FOUND A WAY!" he shouts, making me wince as his sharp bark causes my head to throb and pulsate again. The Governor sees my struggle, and softens his face, shifting his weight in his seat before continuing, "I'm tryin' hard… All kinds o' ways I could do this… This way you get to live, and I get to be-" I think that he will finish, but he stops himself, stands up and walks towards the door.  
>"You say you want to, <em>take<em> this prison as peacefully as possible?" The Governor stops at Hershel's last try to convince him, standing half way in and out of the camper van door. "That means you'd be willing to hurt people to get it. My daughters would be there." The Governor looks down at his feet for a moment, "That's who you'd be hurting," Hershel says, as The Governor meets his gaze again, "If you understand what its like to have a daughter, then how can you threaten to kill someone else's?"  
>There is a long pause, and for a moment, I think that The Governor will change his mind, but his next words play through my throbbing head over and over again.<br>"Because they aren't mine."  
>He steps out of the camper van, closing the door behind him, leaving the three of us in silence as we all realise the same thing at the same time. <em>We aren't getting out of this are we? <em>**_No… No Oliver, I don't think we are._**

_~ The present ~_

I stare up at my terrified group, wincing as the sun beats down on my reeling head. I see Rick walk to Carl, and my stomach does more flips as I see, from all the way down here, the pure fear in Carl's expression. Rick pats his shoulder and they nod to each other, before The Adult Grimes makes his careful way down to the fences to The Governor.  
>As he walks down, I see Daryl talking to the others and I can only hope that they are planning an escape - maybe through The Prison or with the bus or to split up and re group somewhere. I don't know, just anything to get them away from here.<br>I can see Carl watching me, he looks so scared. _Oh, god._ I can't bear to look at him any longer, so I stare at the floor. _I don't want him to see me die._  
>"Let 'em go, right now… I'll stay down here. Talk as long as you want…But you let 'em go. You got a tank. You don't need hostages," Rick pleads.<br>"I do," The Governor replies. "This is jus' to show you I'm serious. Not to blast a hole in our new home… You an' your people have 'til sundown to get out o' here. Or they die."  
>"It doesn't have to go down this way."<br>"I got more people. More fire power… We need this prison," The Governor says. I watch Rick, seeing the fear for his family and friends, and the hatred for The Governor flood over his expression, again and again as the situation becomes more serious by the second. "There it is… It's not about the past. It's about right now."  
>"There are children here. Some of 'em're sick. They wo-they won't survive," Rick tries, his brow arching and panic growing.<br>"I have a tank! An' I'm letting you walk away from here. What else is there to talk about?"  
>There is a long silence. I watch as Rick's mind works overtime as he tries desperately to think of a solution, and he shifts his weight on his heels, unsure, and losing hope in finding one. <em>What can he do? <em>**_I don't know. I don't think he can do anything._**  
>"I can shoot you all. An' ya'll'll shoot back, I know that. An' we'll win and you'll be dead. All o' you… But it doesn't have to be like that. Like I said, it's your choice."<br>I spin my throbbing head around as I hear shrieking from a few walkers as they come to investigate the noise The Governor and his soldiers have been making. _Oh, shit. He's gonna let them get us. Is this why he's lined me and Hershel and Michonne up here? So that he can make our friends watch us get ripped apart? He's sick. He's fucking si-_

**PKOW**

I flinch as The Governor shoots the walker I was staring at. It falls to the floor, and then another two go down with more bullet fire. I would feel relieved, but that emotion is impossible right now.  
>"Noise'll only draw more of 'em over. Longer you wait. Harder it'll be for you to get out of here," The Governor says. But he grows impatient at Rick's silence, and looks up to the sky, squinting as he examines the sun, before looking back to Rick. <em>Why doesn't someone shoot him now? Daryl? Maggie? Bob? Carl's a good shot. He could do it. He could end this. <em>**_Don't be a dick Oliver. If Carl or anyone shot The Governor right now, his soldiers would tare home apart. Just, trust Rick. He can do this._**  
>"You got maybe, an hour o' sunlight left..? I suggest you start packin'," The Governor says. Rick moves his head, I would say he is nodding, but I can see that his mind just can't accept this. "The longer you wait. The harder it's gonna be for you to get out o' here," The Governor says<em>, helping<em>Rick's decision along.  
>I can feel my throat tightening, but I can't use my inhaler. Not here. I can't even reach it. So I just watch Rick closely, relying on him to find a way to save his family. If I die, that's fine. But he needs to keep as many people as he can alive, for as long as possible. I'll die for that. I accept that.<br>"We can all…" Rick begins, but the doubt in his words forces him to stop and regain his composure. "We can all live together… There's enough room for all of us."  
>"More 'an enough. But I don't think my family would sleep well, knowin' that you… were under the same roof," he dares to say. <em>We could say the same to him. Bastard.<em>  
>"We'd live in different cell blocks," Rick tries, ignoring The Governor's remark and making his case. "We'd never have to see each other, 'till we're all ready."<br>"It could work. You know it could!" Hershel encourages.  
>"It coulda, but it can't… Not after Woodbury… Not after Andrea," The Governor says. I see Michonne tense up to my right, and I look at her. She grits her teeth, and I resist the urge to cough up my lungs and look at the grass beneath me again. <em>This isn't gonna work.<em>  
>"Look, I'm not sayin' it'll be easy," Rick debates. "Fact is, it's gonna be a hell of a lot harder than, s-standin' here, shootin' at each other… But I don't think we have a choice."<br>"We don't. You do."  
>Rick becomes desperate. His face contorts and he has to look away for a moment to collect his thoughts, but he calms down enough to reply almost immediately, "We're not leaving… Try your forces. We'll fight back," Rick nods as he talks. "Like you said, gunshots'll jus' bring more of 'em out. They'll take down the fences, and without the fences this place is <em>worthless<em>." There is a short pause, and I can't stop myself from coughing, but I regain my control and fight against my lungs complaints.  
>Rick glances as me worriedly, and I do what I can only hope is a convincing enough nod. He tenses his mouth, unconvinced. But again, there's nothing we can do, so he looks back at The Governor, "Now. We can all, live in The Prison, or none of us can."<br>Suddenly, I hear The Governor leap down from the truck, exhausted by Rick's resistance. But my heart stops as I hear the familiar sound of Michonne's katana being drawn from its sheath. _No. What is he going to do to us?!_ I scrunch up my eyes in fear and listen helplessly as The Governor storms up behind the three of us. "I'll fix the damn fences," he mutters as he marches past me and Michonne, to Hershel. _No. No don't!_  
>He holds the katana to Hershel's neck, and I instinctively try to stand up. "N-" But I fall to my knees again, at a hard blow to the crook of my neck from the man who pulled me from the truck. I almost black out again. Amidst my gasping and wheezing from the unbearable pain, I notice, as I try to keep hold of my consciousness, that the man has my machete holsted in a sheath on his back.<em>Dick.<em> I have a right mind to say this to him, but I keep my mouth shut and just glare at him. _**Don't be stupid, Oliver. You'll only make things worse.**_ I force my eyes away from the man, noticingThe Governor narrowing his eyes at me for a moment, before positioning his arms to ready himself to strike Hershel's throat.  
>Panicked and desperate, Rick shuffles on his feet, "You. You, in the pony tails - is this what you want? Is this what any of you want?!" he cries, his voice cracking as his anxiety increases. I dare a glance behind me at the 'Pony Tails' he was talking to, and I am shocked to see the young woman looks terrified, confused almost. <em>What has The Governor told them about us?<em>  
>"What we want! Is what you got! Period…" a man situated inside the tank manning the cannon says. "Time for you to leave ass hole!"<br>"Look, I've fought him before. An' after, we took in his old friends - They've become leaders, in what we have here! Now if you put down your weapons. An' walk through those gates…" Rick says, desperately motioning to the front gates. "You're one of us."  
>There is a long pause, and I see a few of the soldiers become unsure of their leader, so Rick keeps talking, "We let go… of <em>all<em> of this… An' nobody dies." I look up to Rick, hanging off of every word."Everyone is alive right now… Everyone has made it this far… We've all done worse kinds o' things just to stay _alive_!.. But we can still come back. We're not too far gone," he says.  
>I watch him, despite the circumstance, I can feel a small smile tugging at my lips, "We get to come back," he says, looking at me, and then to The Governor again. I dip my head, thinking of what I told Carl last night and a painful lump forms in my throat, making it tighten in a worse way than before as I wonder if we will ever see each other again. <em><strong>No, Oliver. Rick can do this. This could work<strong>_

"I know. We all. Can change."

The world seems to let Rick's words hang in the air for a long moment. For a long moment, everything is still. For a long moment, The Governor allows the weapon to remove itself from Hershel's neck. But that long moment has to end eventually. But when it does, it feels like everything inside of me breaks into a thousand pieces.

"Liar."

This is all the monster whispers, right before he swings the stolen katana down onto Hershel's neck. _NO! HERSHEL! NO!_  
>My mouth falls open and my face contorts in terror. I watch the crimson circle grow rapidly over my friend's shirt collar, and as he slowly drops to the grass like a rock, making a throaty choking sound that I can never un-hear. I'm in shock. I can't hear anything any more. I can't feel anything any more. I just watch. Terror and pain being the only thing reassuring me of my existence.<br>The noise is what attacks me first. It painfully snaps me back to reality with two ear splitting screams radiating from The Prison. Maggie and Beth. And then Rick's roar, "NO!" Then the gunfire. Everywhere. Bullets spray to and from both sides and it seems like it's all that's left in the world any more. Gunfire. Loud gunfire. Deadly gunfire.  
>I just stare at Hershel. But I add to the screaming when, to my terror, he moves. <em>He's still alive. Oh, god. He's still alive!<em> Still bounded by my hands and my whole body shaking, I instinctively try to help him. But before I even begin to move for the fatally wounded man, I am shoved back. I cry out in fear and pain, but I realise that it is Michonne and I stare at her frantically.  
>"Go!" she yells, shoving me to the ground and dropping to the floor herself. She begins to roll my way, and I have no choice but to go with her, shuffling and hurtling my shaking form towards the trucks. I feel my tears stream down my wincing face, but I keep going. There's nothing else I can do.<br>When I get behind a truck, I force myself to my feet and Michonne does the same. We run in tandem, trying desperately to weave our way through the chaos. Michonne sees a number plate that is sticking out of the truck at a jagged angle and moves her back to it, bobbing her hands up and down to cut her binds.  
>I flinch, as bullets spray around us, barely missing our mortal bodies as we do our best to avoid getting hit in the circumstances. I see the man who has my machete coming towards us. He doesn't see us yet, so Michonne sticks her leg out as he runs past, causing the man to tumble to the floor with a grunt. <em>Shit!<em> He desperately aims his gun at her, but I bring my foot down on his face.  
>He passes out after the second blow to his head. But I don't stop, and after the fourth, or maybe the fifth, or maybe even the sixth bone cracking stomp, I finally feel his skull crush under my sneaker.<br>I stare down at him, wheezing and sobbing as his blood stains my -once blue- sneaker bright red, as bits of his brain ooze in between my laces and into the fabric. _What have I done? Oh, god. I killed him._  
>I fall back into the grass, flailing my foot in the air, wishing that the evidence of the man I have just murdered will somehow disappear from my shoe, but the red just trickles down my jean leg, so I stop.<br>Panic over takes me. I roll over onto my front, beginning to retch and gag in my repulsed state.  
>"Oliver! Your machete!" I hear Michonne over the blood pumping in my pounding head. I look at her, not registering what she screamed at me. But she motions down to my victim, and I realise that I can get my machete again. I force my stomach to settle and I crouch down to him, doing my best to roll him onto his front with my shoulder, since I can't use my hands. I lean down at an odd angle, struggling to grab my machete with my hands still tied behind my back, but I manage, and Michonne helps me cut my hands free.<br>I rub my sore wrists, coughing again as my throat stings and fights to keep me breathing. I cut Michonne free of her restraints too. I am about to stand up, but Michonne stops me. "Put it on," she hisses over the gunfire, motioning down to the man's sheath.  
>"Wh-what?" I protest frantically, feeling his blood soak into the knees of my jeans as I kneel in his blood.<br>"Oliver. You need it!" she frowns at me. _**She's right. This is no time for morality, Oliver. Take it!**__But… I can't. _**_Fucking take it, Oliver!_** I nod shakily and pull off the entire sheath from the man, before putting it over my head, feeling the man's blood on the leather strap wipe over my cheek._Oh, jesus._ I buckle it over my torso and grab my machete.  
>"C'mon. We gotta get out o' here!" Michonne shouts, pulling me towards the tree line.<br>"No. W-we can't leave them all!" I cry, fighting against her as she begins to pull me away, trying to avoid any of the soldiers noticing us.  
>"Oliver. We gotta go!" she urges. I stare at her, shaking my head as she continues to shove me to the trees. <em>We can't leave them! We can't!<em>  
>But just then, I startle at The Governor's voice, "Go through the fences! In your cars! Get your guns! We go in!" he shouts, and my heart drops further into the pit of my stomach. "Kill 'em all!"<br>"Get down!" Michonne hisses in my ear, and I feel a sudden, hard, shove on my aching shoulder, forcing me to the ground with a painful thud. Michonne flattens both of us into the long grass, and we just watch the soldiers advance towards the fences. _NO!_  
>The loud crash bulldozes through my eardrums, as the tank drives over the fences like they are made of paper.<br>The trucks follow, mowing down any remaining fence that dares to try and stay upright in their path, and they all just pour into the prison. There's nothing I can do. I just watch. That's all I seem to be doing today: watching, panicking, crying, and coughing.  
>The trucks get further into the prison, destroying both the garden and the animal enclosures. I see Flame gallop to another area of the prison in an attempt to escape, but a few walkers have followed her. But there is nothing anyone can do for her. There's nothing we can even do for ourselves.<br>I see familiar faces dotted around The Prison, retreating and taking cover as they try to fend off the Governor and his men. But there are too many! I see the prison bus, and on the other side of it, facing away from the oncoming soldiers, I can make out people rushing to file onto it. _Good. Get somewhere safe! Be okay? Please?_  
>I search with my eyes for his sheriffs' hat. But I don't see Carl anywhere. <em>Please let him be okay? Please? Oh, god. Where is he?!<em>  
>My face drops as I spot Rick pinned to the ground under The Governor, as the monster brutally beats him into the dirt. <em>Oh, fuck!<em>  
>"M-Michonne!" I yell, pointing to them. Her eyes widen and she winces for Rick, seeing him het punched around the face again as he tries to fight against The Governor.<br>"C'mon," she rushes to her feet, helping to pull me up as well and we both run for The Prison. But as we run past where the tank was a few moments ago, something shiny catches my eye._Michonne's katana!_  
>"Michonne! I found it!" I shout to her as she stealthily makes her way towards the over turned bus. But she doesn't hear me over the gun fire, so I grab her katana in my free hand and bolt after her.<br>I catch up with her just as she stops by the overturned bus. My stomach churns as I hear the awful gargle noises from Rick, as The Governor slowly chokes him. _Time's running out for him!_ I tap Michonne on the arm with her katana handle as she stares helplessly at Rick and The Governor. She flinches, and I am scared that she is about to attack me, but she recognises me and nods in thanks, quickly taking her weapon back.  
>My heart drops as I see her expression become very distant. She walks to The Governor. He towers over Rick's slowing form, with his hands grasped around his throat, slowly strangling him.<em>End this… Finally end this Michonne…<em>  
>She does…<br>Michonne drives her katana through the man's chest. "Ack," he chokes out, wincing terribly and letting go of Rick. I watch in horror, as Michonne pulls out her blade, letting him slump to the floor beside a gasping and retching Rick.  
>I rush forward to him, putting my machete into its sheath and grabbing Rick under his arm. I hoist him to his weak feet, ignoring the darkening corners of my vision as we both gasp and wheeze for air. Michonne takes Rick's other arm, and helps me to get him to stand. "C-Carl. Carl?!" he splutters desperately.<br>"I don't know," Michonne croaks, overwhelmed by the long overdue murder that she has finally carried out. I know that she has waited to do that for a long time, Carl told me.  
>My mind convulses in worry for him. Intrusive images flash across my vision, threatening to seep into reality – Carl, splayed across the floor with a bloody bullet hole in his stomach, the electric, blue light, gone from his prefect eyes - or ambling towards me, snapping his blackened jaw for my flesh, brain dead and a walker, just like Patrick. <em>No. No, he has to be alright. I can't loose anyone else!<em>  
>My legs move on their own accord, and Rick stumbles along with me, only one person as both of our primary objectives. Michonne stays behind with The Governor. I think she is going to put him down as he is still dying, but I don't stay to watch.<br>"Carl!" Rick yells, breaking out into a fit of coughs.  
>I push against his increasing weight, realising that he has a bullet wound in his thigh. I do all that my throbbing body can to keep him from falling, as I gasp and retch, desperately trying to catch my breath as my second asthma attack of the week ensues. But I have to keep going. We have to find Carl.<br>I startle at another explosion from in The Prison, and I just manage to make out the look-out bridge between C and D-Block as it explodes from the tank's cannon, sending rubble and parts of the building rocketing off in all directions.  
>A few moments pass, as me and Rick still limp towards the courtyard, but we hear another explosion. <em>Oh, god.<em>  
>Rick falls to the gravel floor. <em>Fuck!<em> "Rick. C-come on!" I wince desperately, coughing horrifically as I look over my shoulder, seeing a few walkers amble after us. _Fuck, fuck!_  
>"Carl!" he seems to reply, desperate to find his son as I help him back to his feet, feeling the sharp stones cut into my knees and palms. Rick puts his arm over my shoulder, trying to relieve me of the bulk of his weight, but we both know that, right now, he's in a worse shape than I am.<br>"Carl?!" he cries again, and again, and again. I would too, if it weren't for my swelling wind pipe._**Ignore it Oliver. You can breath.**_ _No, I can't. I can't! _**_You're fine._**_ I'm… I'm fine. _**_You can take your inhaler in a moment. Just find him._**_ Find Carl._  
>We come to the tank, finding that the door and cannon hole are on fire. <em>Shit, someone's blown it up!<em> Rick stops, leaning on the military vehicle to catch his breath, but I force myself to stay stood up. _If I rest, I won't get up again. I know it… I'm too exhausted._  
>I see a walker limping behind Rick, but he is too weak to get it, so I trudge forward, pulling my machete from my victim's sheath on my back.<br>I plunge it through the walker's skull, but I can't pull it out. I'm too weak. The walker begins to fall, taking me down with it. But I'm too exhausted to keep myself stood up any longer. I try to draw in a breath as a crumple to the asphalt, feeling my head pound from the lack of oxygen, but breathing is like drinking through a straw if someone were to pinch it. _I can't breath! I'm going to die!_

**BANK**

POW

I am so exhausted, I can't even flinch at the bullet fire. I just wait for a walker to sink its teeth into me, or for my brain to shut down from no air. _10 minutes. 10 minutes without oxygen until you die, right?_  
>But suddenly, I feel someone engulf me in there arms. They hoist me onto their knees and desperately rifle through my pockets. I think I can hear them whimpering. But I am too far into unconsciousness to get my eyes to open. But after a numbing moment, I feel something hard and smooth, shakily press between my lips, and even in my dazed state, I recognise it instantly as my inhaler.<br>"OLIVER! BREATHE!" I hear someone shout to me, but I can't focus. But then I taste the bitter-sweet spray of my Ventolin inhaler in my mouth, and I instinctively use every last ounce of strength I have to inhale.

Relief. Glorious, oxygenated relief.

I force my eyes to open, gasping as my wind pipe slowly begins to relax, allowing me the only thing that I am suppose to be guaranteed in this world that I continue to get robbed of. Air! But my relief amplifies by impossible amounts as my eyes focus on who has saved me.

Carl.

"Cahh.. muhhg, yu'r alahhve," I struggle to speak, trying to say, 'Carl. Oh my god, you're alive' but my lungs continue to force me to gasp and inhale as much air as I possibly can.  
>The relief on Carl's face is priceless, he pants frantically, as he looks up to his dad, "Dad, h-he's okay," he says breathlessly. Rick embraces us both, wheezing and crying as he squeezes us around the shoulders, making me wince. But I ignore my pain and focus on breathing.<br>Rick pulls away and looks Carl in the eye, "Judith. W-where is she?" he asks, terrified of the answer.  
>I stare at Carl, watching the guilt spread over his expression, "I don't know," he breathes, staring hopelessly at his father. Rick begins to whimper, and he pulls us to stand up. Still being so weak though, Carl has to help me to my feet.<br>We don't talk as we search for Judith. In fear that if we do, what we are all thinking has happened to her will come true. _She'll be okay. She has to be. We found Carl. We can find Judy too. We have to._  
>But I spot it. I try to force it out of my vision. Because a lonely baby carrier is never a good thing.<em>It's not there. I can't see it!<em> But even as I shake my head, I can see the neglected baby carrier sat on the asphalt floor, facing away from us. Fear engulfs me, seeping into every cell of my being until it's all that is left of me any more.  
>We limp towards it, Carl on Rick's left, and me on Rick's right, supporting him under his arms. But even with Carl's help, Rick only becomes heavier and heavier in our arms. <em>What is wrong with him? Why is he doing that?<em>  
>But then I see why. I wish I hadn't. I beg anything that could still be watch over us, even after today, that my eyes are lying to me. That everything that has happened over the past few days is all just a bad dream. I'll wake up in my bottom bunk in D-Block, and Patrick'll be alive, and Carl will hit me on the forehead with my 'butterfly lion' book again, telling me to wake up for chores. <em>Just don't let this be real. Please?<em>  
>But it is real. The red, it's too real. It fills the baby carrier, soaking into the seat and making the once pink fabric bright scarlet, fresh scarlet. Blood. Judith's blood.<br>Rick begins to wail for his daughter. I stumble out of his grip, heaving as my stomach finally decides to evacuate its content. I throw up my breakfast, gagging and retching until I am so empty it aches.  
>I hear Rick's wails, but I startle as I hear shot after shot from Carl's rifle, as he empties his ammo out into a walker's skull. He doubles over, as his father wraps his arms around him, wailing his name to get him to stop. The power of loss and the useless wave anger punches me in the gut, so hard that I almost keel over. <em>No. Not Judith. Little, innocent Judith. She didn't deserve that! No!<em> I gasp for nothing, wiping my mouth with my sleeve as I try to see through the tears spilling from my eyes.  
>"O-Oliver," I hear Rick call me, and I force myself to stumble over to him and Carl. Rick pulls me by the back of my throbbing neck to him, and Carl wails into both of us, uncontrollably sobbing as the sorrow of loosing his sister takes over him.<br>"We gotta go," Rick sobs.  
>Wails force themselves from Carl's lungs, and I grip him by his collar as he cries into me, both of us overpowered by our sorrow. It takes Rick pulling us to either side of him to get us to move again. "It's over," he cries.<br>I begin to walk, helping Rick to move too. But he has to pull Carl for a moment to get him to walk with us. He sobs again, lost in his grief. But eventually, he does as he is told, and we all limp across the courtyard.  
>Walkers fill The Prison, but they are all busy on our dead friend's corpses. I see their faces, people from my block, a girl who lived next door to me, as she gnaws down on another dead man from B-Block. <em>I don't want to be here. Not here. I wish The Governor had killed me. I wish that I didn't have to wake up in that camper van and see all of this. Why did I have to wake up?!<em>

**Carl's POV**

We walk for a long time, me and Oliver both using all of our energy to keep Dad from falling to the ground. I can't control the whimpers that escape my throat as I try not to think of what could possibly have happened to my sister.  
>We trudge through the car park. The way where The Governor came through is being swamped, as a large herd of walkers pour into The Prison, too many for us to leave without getting taken down. So, we decide to leave The Prison through the other broken fence, from the walkers who got into The Prison last night. All it took was me pulling a few crates out of the way. It wouldn't have been enough to keep walkers out, but it doesn't matter anymore. Nothing does.<br>Our home is gone. Burnt to the ground under bullets, walkers and tank tracks. All gone. All dead. I take a glance back as we all reach the peak of a small hill, but Dad pulls me around before I can see my old home.  
>"Don't look back. Carl. Jus' keep walkin'." His voice slurs from his swollen mouth, but I do as he says.<p>

I don't look back.  
>I just keep walking.<p> 


	14. Chapter 14 After

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**Oliver's POV**

We walk for hours. The pain and suffering of the whole day being enough to keep us going on auto-pilot. I stay beside Rick, clutching my inhaler in my right hand and helping him walk with my left arm around his shoulders. He limps along, gripping me to stay stood up but he sways as he walks, his injuries making him less spacially aware and he almost steps on me a few times.  
>But after a little while, Carl just lets go of his father. He walks beside us for a few minutes and Rick and I accept that I will be enough to hold the injured Grimes up for a little while. But as the minutes continue to pass, slowly and painfully I notice Carl getting further and further away. Not just physically, but mentally. He's doing it again, just like he tried to with me yesterday night. He's blocking us out.<br>"Carl. Slow down," Rick wheezes.  
>But Carl doesn't respond. He just keeps walking.<br>"Stop!" even I jump at Rick's bark.  
>But Carl finally obeys, but he doesn't acknowledge his father, he just stares ahead.<br>"We needa stick together," Rick continues. "We gotta find a place - get food and supplies," he says, limping to his son and I do my best to keep the desperate man on his feet.  
>Carl still doesn't respond.<br>"Hey…" Rick places his hand on Carl's shoulder. "We're gonna be-" But Carl turns his head and glares at his father. Cold and soulless; that's what I fight not to think of as I remember seeing the same glare from The Governor when I woke up in the camper van.  
>I purse my lips and stare at Carl in worry. <em><strong>He's shutting down.<strong>_ _I've never seen Carl like this before._ I avert my eyes, fearing that if I look at him any longer he will give me that glare too. I don't think I could bear it. But Carl ignores me. He turns on his heel and keeps walking, letting Rick's hand fall to his side. I see the man out of the corner of my eye as he looks at me for some kind of help, or reassurance. But I have none. I'm useless.  
>So we keep walking.<p>

After a few more silent miles, my mind is elsewhere as I subconsciously switch back to auto-pilot again. But I am brought back to manual by a wheezy noise from Rick, as he motions ahead of us.  
>I look up from the floor, and see a few hundred yards up the road, what looks like, a restaurant or bed and breakfast motel. Carl sees it too, and veers off the road to make a beeline for it. Me and Rick follow, and I can feel Rick doing his best to quicken his pace to catch up to Carl before he goes into the building alone. But I don't exactly think that Rick is in much condition to afford being protective over Carl, who, truthfully, is the only person here that can move without wincing and gasping from the pain.<br>Walking around the abandoned motor bikes and stepping over littered bottles and old newspapers, we get to the building. I realise that it is a barbeque bar and my stomach growls as it becomes aware of how empty it is, especially after yacking a few hours ago.  
>Rick tries to pull himself from my grip. "Y-you sure?" I ask, croaking as this is the first thing I have said in hours, and my sore wind pipe makes me wince.<br>Rick nods. "Yeah. I got it," he reassures me, wheezing as he weakly stands on his own.  
>I watch him wearily, readying myself if I have to catch him if he crumples to the floor in exhaustion again. But he steadies himself and the three of us reach the door. I take out my machete, quickly stuffing my inhaler into my pocket as Carl takes out his gun and Rick an axe that he found on the side of the building, used for decoration once upon a time I guess.<br>Rick pulls the –already- broken door open with a creak. _This place has been looted already. Why are we bothering? _**_Because, there may still be something we can take. Anything can help us right now. We're desperate._**  
>"Wait outside. Okay?" Rick says. "Keep watch."<br>Unsurprisingly, Carl narrows his eyes at his father. "You 'keep watch'. You can barely stand. I'm not gonna let you go in there alone," he argues quietly.  
>I am equally as indifferent. I'm just not being so obvious about it. But I too realise that Rick can't go in there alone.<br>"Excuse me?" Rick hisses, glaring at his son and irritated by Carl's sudden concern for his well being, after just spending the last few hours completely ignoring him.  
>"We've done this before," Carl says. "I'm gonna help you clear it… you should jus', let me do it myself." Carl stares at his father and doesn't even regard me. He's angry, and is ignoring me for it. I'm one of the main things that has caused the majority of his confusion and emotional turmoil today. Kissing me, The Prison falling, his sister and everyone else. But since The Prison is gone now, and Judy… she's dead… and we have no idea where anyone else is or if anyone else even got out, I am the only thing left that he can pretend isn't here anymore. So he is doing exactly that. He is deleting me from his acknowledgement.<br>Rick grits his teeth, and then swallows the blood in his mouth. "Let's go," he relents.  
>We enter the bar, checking in the first few rooms that we see. Carl goes ahead into the main bar area and I follow him with Rick, seeing the irritation on Rick's swollen and badly cut up expression.<br>The first thing I notice is the large mound of chairs and furniture stacked up across the middle of the room. I furrow my brow, feeling the throb and sting from my wounds. But I hear something moving as a walker wanders out of the shadows. I instinctively grip my machete tighter in my hands, ignoring my wince as my palms sting from the cuts on them. _Jeeze. I'm hurting everywhere. _**_It's a miracle that you're still conscious._**  
>The walker ambles towards the furniture, shoving itself against the stacked chairs and tables. But the barrier does its job and the walker can't get trough to us. With the situation being less serious than I first expected, I let myself examine the walker a little more. Tilting my head as I stare at its decaying and grey skin that sags off of its jaw and nose. It snaps its teeth at the three of us, leaning against the furniture. It's slow, so I guess it has been here for a while.<br>Then I notice the bottles of hot sauce on the back row of the shelf. I motion to it with my machete, wondering if there may be some other food too.  
>"That might be all that's left," Rick notices them too.<br>I grimace, remembering Carl telling me that Rick once scolded him for trying to eat dog food. _**I wonder if we are desperate enough now that Rick would allow us to eat the hot sauce as a meal?**_ _Is there a scale in Rick's head that determines what level of desperation and inhumanity that we are at before we just eat whatever we can find? I wonder when the level is low enough to eating tree bark, or insects. _**_I don't know. But we're probably desperate enough by now to eat the dog food, so, you should consider the hot sauce a treat._**_ Yeah. But I can't imagine that hot sauce is much better than just eating nothing._  
>"Hmm," I agree with myself a little too loudly. But because of my unintentional noise, in the first time since The Prison Carl looks me in the eyes. Only for a moment, but my stomach churns at the sight of how emotionless his expression is.<br>He looks away again and back to the walker almost immediately. He raises his gun to it. "I can get it from here," he states.  
>"No," Rick croaks, "no, it's weak. I'll draw it out," he says, looking over where best to pull out some furniture.<br>Carl obeys, and drops his gun to his side. He picks up a piece of paper and I glance at it. But I can't make out the note written on it because Carl is holding it at the wrong angle for me. I am about to look away from it, not wanting to have to look over his shoulder, but Carl tilts it slightly, purposely showing me the message but still refusing to look at me.  
>I purse my lips to silently thank him, and I read: 'Please do what I couldn't – Joe Jr'.<br>"Stay back," Rick warns us.  
>Carl glares at the walker, shaking his head in annoyance as he leaves the paper on the table. He thinks that Joe Jr. was stupid - a coward for not putting his father's walker down. I remember when my dad turned, and my mom. But it was right at the beginning. Me and Patrick couldn't bring ourselves to put them down either, so we left them in their bedroom… It was awful… and I know that if I went back home now, they would probably still be there.<br>I've told Carl about that before. But only now do I realise that he must think I am a coward for not putting them down, too. _**Don't think about that Oliver.**_  
>I grit my teeth, stepping back from the stack of furniture as Rick readies himself to pull a chair out. He glances at me and Carl to see if we're ready. Carl doesn't respond but I nod in confirmation for us… I guess Carl is ready at least, because he isn't really giving me anything to go on.<br>Rick shoves the chair out, but it brings down a lot more with it than he thought. But he manages to get out the way just in time as the furniture avalanches down to him. Me and Carl watch the walker make its way for The Adult Grimes. But then Carl raises his gun, worried for his weak father.  
>Rick whacks the walker through the forehead with his axe. But for too long, the walker stays upright. It continues to growl and reach for Rick. <strong><em>He must've not hit it right.<em>****_The brain wasn't destroyed properly!_** I see Carl tense up next to me, about to shoot.  
>"DON'T! I'VE-" Rick begins.<br>I am about to lunge forward and drive my machete through the walker's head, but I stop short at a gunshot.  
>Carl.<br>The walker falls to the ground and I stare at the teenager.  
>"I said not to!" Rick scolds his son.<br>"You couldn't do it with the axe!" Carl shouts defensively. He glances at me, I would've thought for back up, or for me to say something to calm him. But he looks away again, reminding himself that he is trying to ignore me.  
>"I had it!" Rick pants. "Every bullet counts… we'da needed that one later," he wheezes, motioning to Carl's gun as he sways on his feet. I wince when I see the red ring around Rick's irises. <em>Jesus christ… he's in really bad shape.<em>  
>"See what you both can find. An' let's move on," Rick instructs, pulling his axe from the walker's skull with a crunch before going into the kitchens alone.<br>Carl grits his teeth, and shakes his head. I walk past him behind the bar, deciding that I am not going to wait for him to lea the way while he sulks. So I rummage through the various cupboards, looking for anything I can get my bruised and cut hands on. **_Let's just see if we can find anything else before we get the hot sauce._**_ I agree._  
>Carl finds a cupboard at his eye level and when he opens it he lets out a long sigh of relief. I turn and look at what has caused such an unexpected reaction from the teenager, but I gasp when I see what it is too. The cupboard is almost full! <em>Oh god.<em> Potato chips, jarred pickles, tinned plumb tomatoes, about 3 small jars of pesto, and bags of this foreign cereal stuff. We'll eat weird. But we'll eat.  
>We collect everything except the hot sauce. <em><strong>Nah. We're not that desperate yet.<strong>_ I allow myself to feel a little more hopeful as Rick emerges from the kitchen with his own find. "Kitchen wasn't empty after all…" he says. "My haul," he puts bottles of water and graham crackers into a supply bag. "You?" he glances up at me and Carl as we carry an armful each of food over to him.  
>"I win," Carl says, dropping his armful into the supply bag and staring at his father as he does. <em>Oh, thanks, because I was of no help at all. <em>**_Don't be so damn petty, Oliver. Let it go. And, he did kind of win. He found the food._**_ Fine, whatever._ I resist the urge to roll my eyes at myself and the teenager, ignoring Carl's insistence on pretending that I am not here as he dismissively steps back to give me room to drop my armful into the supply bag.  
>"C'mon," Rick says, motioning us to follow him out of the bar.<br>Carl takes the supply bag and slings it over his shoulder, and then suddenly looks at me. I almost startle as I meet his gaze. He looks like he will say something, but his eyes glaze over as he loses himself in thought, before dropping his eyes to the floor and following after his dad without a word.  
>Confused and aching, I just go back to Rick, taking under his arm again to support him. And then, the three of us leave the bar's car park and continue down the road.<p>

**Carl's POV**

_~ A Few Hours Later ~_

"Hey."  
><em>Stop.<em>

"Hey."  
><em>Stop it.<em>

"Hey."  
><em>Goddamn it!<em>  
>My father's insistence is infuriating. But I bring my numb legs to stop just outside of a suburb house. I listen as they drag there feet, coming to stand a few meters behind me and I turn to look at them. "That one's as good as any," Dad motions to the house I had stopped in front of.<br>I make my way over to the front door, gritting my teeth as I climb the wooden steps. I can almost feel them both staring at me as they struggle to walk onto the porch. _I don't care._  
>Dad breaks the doors' lock with his axe and shoves it open. We file into the house, weapons drawn and our eyes open for anything moving. I head into the next room along, while they go and check the kitchen and dining area. Then I head down the hallway, aiming to check the back door.<br>"Carl!" Dad whispers loudly to me.  
>"I got it," I hiss over my shoulder, keeping my gun raised as I continue walking down the hallway, "all the doors down here're open."<br>"Jus' stop!" he hisses.  
>I drop my arms, feeling my annoyance threaten to spill from my skin. I swing around, letting out a sigh as I glare at him. <em>There's nothing down here!<em>

"HEY ASS HOLE!"  
>I shout at the air, as I shove my arm against the wall with a loud bang, staring at Dad and enjoying the shocked expression on his bruised face.<p>

"HEY SHIT FACE!"  
>I do it again, hitting the wall harder and reveling in the pain that explodes up my wrist and forearm.<p>

"HEY ASS-"  
>"WATCH YOUR MOUTH!" he growls at me, as I hit the wall again.<br>I stare at him, amazed by, even now, he expects me to care about my language. "Are you kidding me?" I bob my head sarcastically and Dad doesn't move, only glares. I purse my cracked lips. "If there was one of them down there, they would've come out."  
>Dad stares at me. I tense my jaw and shift my gaze from him to the floor. After a moment, he just leaves to go check the kitchen, leaving just me and Oliver. I trudge past him and climb the stairs, ignoring the concerned look he gives me as he eventually follows.<br>I take the far end of the corridor as he goes to the nearer end. All the other rooms are empty, like I said they would be, so I go into the bedroom. It must have been a teenager's room before, with posters and 'fashionable' clothes and music. It's actually pretty cool in here. I see a gaming system, recognising it as an xbox 360 with an idiotically large plasma screen to play it on, accompanied by stacks of video games beside it._Cool._  
>I find myself smiling, recognising a few xbox games from when I was a kid. I remember getting so addicted to 'Call of Duty' that Mom had to hide it from me. But Dad; addicted to it as much as me, found it and we secretly played it together on the few occasions that Mom left me and him alone in the house together. I hardly spent time with Dad, from how much he worked. So to do this with him sometimes was, in my childhood opinion, something to look forward to. <em>I don't even remember the last time I truly looked forward to anything.<em>  
>I suddenly feel almost dizzy with nostalgia and my smile drops as I tense my mouth in annoyance. <em>It's stupid to think about that. I'm never going to feel that again. It's a dead memory in a dead world. Ignore it.<em>  
>He walks past the bedroom door, catching my gaze as he sees me inside. I look away and step towards the gaming system, before pushing the video games off of the desk and letting them fall to the floor with a loud clatter. I rip out the cables from the TV, wrapping it around my hand before exiting the room. I walk past him as he stares at the floor. It's getting dark so I need to make sure the house is secure before we rest. Dad watches me as I go to the front door. And taking my time, I tie the cable around the doorknob and the curtain hook, pulling at it when I am done to make sure it'll hold. But I hear them both shoving against the over turned couch. I look at them, and grit my teeth as I see them trying to manoeuvre the couch to block the door.<br>"I tied the door shut," I don't even try to hide my contempt.  
>"We don't need to take any chances," Dad says, and they continue moving the couch towards the door, struggling, because they are both still very weak.<br>"You don't think it'll hold?"  
>"Carl," Dad wheezes impatiently.<br>"It's a strong knot!" I argue and they stop to look at me. "Clove hitch… _Shane_ taught me… remember him?" I verbally whack my father across his bruised face.  
>Oliver's confused gaze shifts between us as Dad's expression widens in shock from bringing up such a sensitive subject. "Yeah, I remember him. I remember him everyday," he hisses, as a kind of anger and contempt hardens his swollen facial features almost making me afraid to look at him as I regret what I said. But I hold my ground and refuse to show my slight remorse to either of them.<br>"There somethin' else you wanna say to me?"  
>I stare at him for a moment, cursing myself for being such a dick. But I want to scream at him. I want him to know that he has killed everyone, and that all of it is his entire fault. But I hold my tongue. I dip my head and relent, going over to the other side of the couch to help them move it. I have to do the majority of the shoving, but even so as the couch rolls over against the wall and door, Oliver loses his footing and slams to the floor with it.<br>"Gah!" he yelps.  
>My breathing hitches as I see how hurt he is, but I don't do anything.<br>"You alright?" Dad asks and I feel relieved that he did ask. But I still don't do anything to help.  
>Oliver nods. "Y-yeah. I got it," he winces, struggling to bring himself to his feet again.<br>I hold back my wince as I see the bruises over his neck and face and small of his back that his top has shown after it lifted slightly from his fall. I look away, almost hurting from the rock in my throat. _I don't care. I don't care._  
>"This'll have to do for the night," Dad says, and I ignore the glare he gives me for my hostility.<p>

**Oliver's POV**

Rick takes off his holster and carefully sits on the couch, leaning down to rummage through the supply bag as Carl begins to take a few cushions from the couch to sleep on. Rick holds out a bag of the foreign cereal to me. I nod in thanks and take a handful, before sitting on the floor under the window and beginning to eat. Rick offers Carl some cereal, too.  
>"You gonna have some?" Carl asks him.<br>Rick gestures the cereal closer to his son. "You should eat."  
>"We should <em>save<em> it," Carl retorts. He lifts the cushions from the couch and as he turns around he glares at me, and even though I am completely empty after I threw up my appetite disappears completely.  
>We look away from each other at the same time. Carl drops the cushions on the floor and I just stare down at the small amount of cereal cupped him my palm. Rick gets up from the couch, struggling but he manages. He steps to me and gestures for me to keep eating, so I bring myself to keep grazing on the food.<br>"Hey," he addresses his son, limping over to him and holding out the cereal to him.  
>"I don't want any," Carl insists stubbornly.<br>Rick throws the bag on the floor at Carl's feet. "Eat it," Rick seethes. "An' find Oliver something to sleep on," he adds irritantly, before limping out of the living room and into the hallway.  
>Carl stares after his father, before finally grabbing the packet of cereal and shoving his hand into it. He takes a small handful and throws all of it into his mouth, before leaving the packet on the couch.<br>He shoots me a glare. "C'mon," he mutters reluctantly.  
>"I-I can just sleep on the floor," I say, avoiding his eyes as I finish my 'supper'. "Done it before," I add, referring to sleeping in The Office Blocks. Though I suddenly realise that any mention of our destroyed home is probably the worst decision to make.<br>"C'mon," is all he says, his tone worryingly emotionless and cold.  
>I bring myself to me feet, having to clutch the windowsill to help me stand. Carl just watches, waiting impatiently for me to get myself balanced. I walk towards him and he turns and walks into the hallway, making his way up the stairs as I struggle to follow, my whole body aching and throbbing as I take every step one at a time. Carl doesn't wait for me when he gets to the top, he just keeps walking down the landing.<br>When I finally get to the top I notice wheezing coming from the bathroom. I walk to the bedroom I saw Carl in earlier when he threw the video games on the floor, guessing that this is where Carl went before he walked off a moment ago. But just as I am about to turn into the bedroom, I hear the wheezing again and I realise that Rick is in the bathroom tending to his wounds. He's hurting worse than I am. I walk into the bedroom, wincing as I push on the half closed door as the cold wood stings my cut up palms. I find Carl inside. The video games that he threw on the floor are scattered across the wooden surface and he quickly kicks them out of the way to make a path to get to the bed.  
>The bed is kind of in another room in the bedroom, and Carl leans against the doorway into it, motioning to the bed. "There. You can sleep here," he says dismissively.<br>I shake my head and grab an armful of the duvet. "We should all sleep in the same room for tonight. I can just take the blanket downstairs," I say reasonably.  
>"No. Jus' sleep up here," he hisses, removing himself from the wall and beginning to walk to the door. "The house is clear. Jus'... sleep in here."<br>"Why are you being like this?" I frown at him, quickly dropping the duvet back on the bed and standing in the door way. But the sudden movement makes my head spin so I have to lean on the door frame a little.  
>He glares at me and turns around to face me again. "What're you talking about?" he orders.<br>I grit my teeth and glare right back. "You're being a dick. You can't treat me and your dad like this!" I whisper loudly at him, not wanting to draw attention from Rick in the bathroom. "Making me stay up here isn't gonna solve your problems!" I continue, wincing as my injured temple throbs painfully.  
>Carl tenses his jaw and takes a few steps closer to me. "This isn't about you an' Dad. I mean... look at you, Oliver… you're a mess. You look like you're about to drop right there. You'll be better off in here. There's no other place to sleep down stairs, so you might as well jus' sleep in a bed," he points out, ranting from his irritation.<br>I try to straighten myself, but as I pull myself from the wall, like Carl said, I just drop to the floor, grunting as the fall shakes my whole body, sending rockets of pain up my spine and through my head.  
>"Oliver!" I hear, as my vision begins to darken, and a static sound begins ringing in my throbbing ears. I feel Carl grab my shoulders, but the feeling becomes numb, and I pass out.<p>

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	15. Chapter 15 Pudding Is Awesome

**Oliver's POV**

_I tap his shoulder to rouse him. But he frowns and covers his face with his hands, so that only the end of his freckly nose pokes out between them. "Carl? Wake up. Your dad says we've got a few hours to kill. Might as well do something, rather than just sleep all day," I say to the sleep teenager._  
><em>He shakes his head in his sleepy daze. "No. I-I don't want string beans. They taste like dirt. I don't like 'em," he mumbles, letting out a grumble as he shoves his face into his feather pillow.<em>  
><em>I laugh. "I'm not giving you string beans, Idiot. We're gonna go do something. Come on, wake up, Man," I insist, shaking his shoulders.<em>  
><em>But even half asleep, he is irrevocably stubborn, and just waves me away and rolls back over to hide his face. "I don't like string beans," he grumbles again. "Piss off."<em>  
><em>I sigh, and roll my eyes. "Whatever. Doofus," I mumble, giggling to myself.<br>I see my beanie hat on the desk, but I decide to leave it there because the weather is pretty warm today. In knowing that I can't wake up Carl yet, I leave the office and head towards The Office Block exit, running into Mika as I go. "Hey Mika."  
>"Oliver!" she exclaims, beaming at me. "Guess what, guess what?!"<br>I cock an eyebrow at her. "What's up?" I ask, crouching down to her eye level to talk to the child.  
>She bobs on her tip toes, practically shaking with excitement. "Lizzie's better! She's allowed out of A-Block! I'm gonna go find her."<br>I smile. A real smile that feels unfamiliar, but completely welcomed at the same time and also somehow missed in a way that I can't figure out. "Awesome! That's great Mika," I say to her.  
>"D'you wanna come with me to go get 'er?" Mika asks excitedly.<br>I shake my head. "Sorry, I can't. I've gotta go to the courtyard and kiss Carl," I smile, slinging my arm over her shoulder and walking with her out of The Office Block. But I furrow my brow for a moment, remembering when this happened just yesterday, but… I don't remember saying that part. I do remember going to A-Block with Mika to find Lizzie, and then going to the courtyard alone afterwards. I wonder how I know that I am going to kiss Carl today?  
>But after a moment, I just dismiss my confusion and keep walking with Mika anyway.<br>"Oh. I didn't know Carl was your boyfriend," she says sweetly.  
>I shake my head. "H-he's not," I say with a frown tugging at my eyebrows as we walk out of the door and into the sunlight.<br>"Oh. Well, d'you want him to be?" she asks.  
>I stop at the bottom of the steps and reluctantly shrug. "He hates me," I tell her solemnly.<br>Mika turns to me, furrowing her brow innocently. "Why?" she asks.  
>I pause, trying to form my words, but the truth is, I don't know, so I tell her what is really bothering Carl. "Well… The Prison was destroyed. And, now that Judith and everyone else is dead… he hates everything," I say glumly.<br>Mika frowns, but then starts to giggle at me. "No we're not. An' Judy's with us… an'… The Prison's fine," she motions around us to the very much alive and in-one-piece prison, and then pulls me by my hand to crouch to her eye level again. "You're so strange, Oliver," she giggles.  
>I chuckle, too and nod. Then, for some reason, she raises her hand and flicks me on my temple, but it hurts more than I was expecting and I flinch. "Ouch," I gasp, wincing but still half heartedly chuckling at the girl.<br>"Sorry," she apologises. But she flicks me again, sending a shooting pain through my head.  
>"Ow. M-Mika, why are you doing that?" I flinch, blocking her hand to get her to smiles. "I'm trying to fix you," she says, before quickly and painfully flicking me again.<br>"Mika. S-stop." I frown at her, becoming irritated by her now.  
>"I have to. Oliver... you need to wake up," she insists, managing to break out of my grasp and flicking my temple again.<br>"Ow! W-what're yo-? Wait. W-what?!" I stammer, completely confused as I try to stop her from flicking me without hurting the child. But suddenly, right before my eyes, Mika turns into my mother. I watch in complete confusion and shock as she grows and matures, and her hair turns long and black, and her eyes turn brown and familiar. I gasp in awe. "M-Mom?" I mew, letting a smile spread over my mouth despite my pain. Mom smiles at me, and gently strokes my cheek. But then, he expression hardens and she flicks my temple, just like Mika did, only harder, making me yelp.  
>"Oliver. Don't forget about your Italian! I don't want you forgetting about your ancestors! You already left me and your papà! My own son…Un vigliacco maledetto!" she yells furiously, and tears well in my eyes at her words.<br>"No. M-Mom. I'm sorry! There was nothing we could do! Y-you'd turned - both of you!" I cry.  
>"Oliver. Wake up it's me. You need to eat," she says, flicking me again. "C'mon, get up. Snap out of it!" only my mother's voice isn't hers anymore, she sounds like Carl. <em>**_What the fuck is going on?!_**_  
>Suddenly my head reels and I double over in pain, as what was Mika, but now looks like my Mom and even more disturbingly sounds like Carl, continually flicks me in the temple over and over again. <em>**_Stop! STOP!_**

"Oliver. Wake up. You gotta eat."  
>My eyes snap open and I sit bolt upright. "Ahh!" I wince terribly as my head pulsates from the movement and blinding light, making me feel like my brain is exploding in my skull.<br>Someone grabs my shoulders and pushes me to lie down again. "Jeeze, Oliver. It's me, it's jus' me…" I recognise Carl's voice, and it rings in my ears. "Don't sit up so fast, you'll pass out again."  
>I wince, grunting as my eardrums scream for him to stop talking. But I do as he says and lie down again, keeping my eyes closed for a few minutes until the pain in my head is bearable.<br>I slowly coax my eyes to open again, squinting from the morning light pouring into the bedroom. I see Carl, staring at me blankly and tiredly. "What happened?" I ask him, beginning to get used to his permanently emotionless expression.  
>He tenses his jaw for a moment before answering. "You knocked yourself out last night," he says, "we think you've got a concussion. Dad helped me with your wounds… until… until he almost passed out too, so he had to go lie down," he says, stubbornly refusing to show the worry that I know he feels for his father, "but, your wounds, they didn't look nice. Your head's pretty badly sliced, an' there was a lot of dirt in your other cuts. I'll try to find antibiotics today."<br>"Is it infected?" I ask worriedly. _Infection was easy to cure before, but now it can kill a person._  
>Carl shrugs, staring down at the bowl in his hands. "I don't know… but I'll find antibiotics anyway," he says, handing me the bowl of cereal. "Breakfast."<br>I nod in thanks and take the bowl, feeling a little relieved that Carl is talking to me again, even if he isn't really looking at me. He must have had a little time to calm down while I was out.  
>"Have you eaten?" I ask him, and Carl nods yes. "Good. Where's your dad?" I add.<br>Carl rubs his eyes restlessly. "Still asleep. I'll go wake him later - get some food in him as well," he tells me.  
>I chew my lip. "Well, what're you gonna do until then?" I ask.<br>I know that he is still mourning after everything we saw and went through yesterday, and I know that he has been ignoring me ever since, but I still don't want him to leave.  
>He watches me for a moment, before glancing at something in his hands. I didn't even notice he was holding anything else, but I realise that it is a book.<br>"Read," he answers simply.  
>He props himself against the wall, with his legs stretched along the short side of the bed, and I move my feet out of the way so that he can get comfortable. Then, just like he said, he begins to read.<br>In silence, we stay in the bedroom. I eat my breakfast, while Carl reads his book, shaking his leg after a few minutes as he lets himself get into the story. And when I finish eating, I just let myself enjoy the quiet. I don't even notice as I begin to drift off into unconsciousness again.

"Dad. Wake up!"  
>I startle awake at Carl's voice. <em>Oh, Jeeze. I fell asleep? God, this concussion must be a dozie.<em>  
>"Wake up!"<br>I hear him again from downstairs.  
>"WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!"<br>I pull myself out of bed, noticing that my bowl is gone. Carl must have taken it when I passed out again. I don't hear him say anything else from downstairs, so I quicken my pace as best I can, stumbling out into the hallway and to the top of the stairs. "Carl!" I call down.  
>I hear him make a breathy gasping sound. "O-Oliver… don't come down here," his voice breaks and I can hear the startle in it, making my heart pound in my chest. "G-go back to sleep."<br>"W-what's wrong?" I say worriedly, wincing slightly, but the pain is bearable. "Is Rick okay?" I ask, worried that Carl hasn't been able to wake his father after so much shouting.  
>"He's fine. He's jus' passed out," he whispers, with a kind of urgency behind his tone. Why is he whispering? I am about to ask, but I become aware of a kind of rattling noise, but with my pounding head, I just dismiss it as my imagination or the blood pulsating through my ears. "Oliver, go back to bed, before you fall down the stairs."<br>My head begins to fog a little, so I do as he says and head back to the bedroom, clutching my temples and willing the painful rattling sound to stop. I carefully climb back into bed, resting my head on the pillow, and shortly after, the rattling stops.  
>I let myself begin to tire, and I drift off to sleep again. But as soon as I think I am falling into unconsciousness, I startle awake at a gunshot. My head throbs and I wonder if it was just in my head, like the rattling. But I startle again when another shot rings out from somewhere in the neighbourhood.<br>I pull myself out of bed and quickly make my way downstairs, ignoring the flicking sting in my injured temple - now realising why Mika kept flicking my head in my dream. Along with the painful flicking sensation in my temple though, is the throbbing in my shoulder and… well, my entire body really. _Jeeze, yesterday has really beaten me up._  
>"Carl?" I call out as I get to the bottom of the steps and go into the living room. I find only Rick. He is still asleep on the couch, and I crouch down to try to wake him as another three gunshots ring out across the neighbourhood, one after the other.<br>I freeze, realising what must be happening. _Carl_. _Oh, shit!_ I feel myself panicking, because I know that it's him. _He's gone out like he said he would. Dammit! _**_Oliver, he's in trouble! You have to help him!_**

Carl's POV

_Maggots._  
><em>It's got maggots in its fucking brain! Oh, Jeeze. Oh Jeeze!<em> My stomach convulses in my gut and I shove myself out of the dog-pile of dead that I have been buried under.  
>I bring myself to my feet, panting and holding back my gagging as my stomach lurches and flips inside of me. <em>Don't puke. Don't pu-<em>  
>But my stomach disobeys, making me retch and double over, and I spew the cereal and canned tomatoes onto the leafy floor at my feet. When I am empty, I pick up my gun and hat, staring down at the walkers.<br>"I win." I mutter, my voice cracking as I hold back my wince from my sore stomach.  
>"What the fuck happened?" I startle at Oliver's voice, spinning on my heel to see him watching me. Who knows how long he's been there!<br>"What're you doing here?" I hiss, wiping my mouth on my sleeve. Oliver doesn't answer, only narrows his eyes at me. "Well, thanks for the help!" I add, irritant to his silence.  
>"<em>Idiota<em>," he mutters in annoyance to himself, looking away. _What?_ I think for a moment that he just said it wrong, but I realise he was talking in Italian for some reason. I grit my teeth, about to yell at him - I don't know what for - but I just want to yell at him for something. But I stop short when Oliver begins to cough. I roll my eyes, waiting for him to pull out his inhaler and use it; then I can get back to yelling at him again. But when he rifles through his pockets, he doesn't find anything. He doesn't have his inhaler on him.  
>"Where is it?" I bark, holstering my gun.<br>"I don't know," Oliver confesses, wheezing a little as he talks. He must have run to get here and over exerted himself too quickly.  
>I sigh in annoyance, but I can feel my worry begin to bleed through my mind as I remember his asthma attack yesterday at The Prison. I rush forward and grab his arm, roughly pulling him to follow me back to the house. "C'mon," I grumble, letting go of him when he begins to follow me. I catch him wince slightly out of the corner of my eye, and I almost apologise, but I stop myself before the words leave me.<br>We get back to the suburb house, entering through the back door. I sprint upstairs to the bedroom, finding Oliver's inhaler on the bed side table. I knew it was there, because I put it there yesterday after he passed out. My annoyance grows as I scold myself for not telling him that I removed it from his pocket, but I don't linger in the bedroom. I crash back downstairs. But I find Oliver sat on the steps half way up, wheezing and coughing, with his shoulders leant forwards to ease his breathing. I tense my mouth, almost yelling at the idiot for trying to follow me up anyway, but I know that it's my fault he needs his inhaler in the first place.  
>He looks up to me, giving me a reassuring nod. "It's not that bad," he says. But this sends a stabbing guilt through my gut and I grimace as I walk over to him. "You're supposed to keep this on you all the time?!" I shout, resisting the temptation to fling the inhaler at him.<br>"I'm sorry," he chokes out, and then takes a puff. I tense my jaw, forcing my guilt not to surface. I know that I am only mad at myself, but I can't help myself from taking it out on him, and I hate myself for it.  
>I sigh and sit next to him, waiting for him to catch his breath again. But when he does, neither of us say anything for a moment, we just sit with our forearms leant on our knees, staring at the bottom of the stairs.<br>"What were you doing out there anyway?" Oliver asks. I want to glare at him for accusing me of being reckless, but there is no patronising tone in his voice, only curiosity.  
>I sigh slowly through my nose. "When I was yelling at Dad, some walkers heard me. I was jus', leadin' 'em away from you both," I tell him. But I don't need to say anymore. I can tell that he's guessed that I was caught off guard, and I don't want to bruise my pride any more than being found by him already has.<br>"Okay," Oliver furrows his brow. "Were they banging on the door?"  
>I look at him briefly and nod. "Uh huh. Why?"<br>Oliver raises his brow and shakes his head. "I… I kind of thought it was in my head. Other wise I would've helped you," he says truthfully.  
>I shrug. "I had it," I say without thinking about the state Oliver found me in. Oliver does well to hold back his scoff, and I make an effort not to get defensive again. There is a short pause, while we both exchange a few glances of subtly gratitude with each other.<br>"Why hasn't he woken up yet?" Oliver asks, finally breaking the silence, and along with it, changing the subject too, gesturing with his bruised and cut up knuckles to the living room, where my father still lays comatose on the couch.  
>"Dunno," I shrug, "think he jus' needs to heal a little more… He'll be fine." <em>I hope… I wish… I doubt.<em>  
>Oliver offers the best reassuring smile he can muster, but I don't return it. I just glance at him and then look away again. "You should go back to bed," I suggest quietly, ignoring the lump in my throat and resisting the almost unbearable urge to envelope my arms around him and cry until I am empty.<br>Oliver purses his lips, but instead of pressing, he kindly nods. "Okay," he half whispers, before getting up and walking up the rest of the flight of stairs and heading into the bedroom. I listen as he goes, closing my eyes as I feel my tears fight against my eye lids. I hear him slump into bed, and then all I can hear is my dad's wheezy breathing. _They're both hurt so bad._ Oliver hasn't seen how bad he is yet, but I saw his bruises last night while me and Dad did our best to patch him up. The contusions cover his neck, his shoulders, his back and… well, almost everywhere in all honesty. His hands and knees are cut up pretty bad, too, and he has a cut on the left side of his abdomen. Unless I find antibiotics, I am almost certain that he will get an infection from the gash on his temple… and then there's Dad. He is nothing but bruises, cuts, and gashes… and, he's shot.  
>But, we are the ones who survived the attack. I can't even begin to think how the others could possibly have survived. I don't even think I believe that they have. Judith didn't… I saw her blood… She's dead. They all are!<br>I don't know how long I sit on the stairs, long enough that I am almost shaking from my anger, long enough to know that Oliver has fallen asleep again, by his mumbling. He's been having bad dreams since we got here. When I woke him up earlier he called me Mom, and then he said "No. Sorry! Nothing we could do! You turned, both of you," or something like that, but I couldn't make it out properly because he was thrashing around too much.  
>I sit up straighter when I suddenly think I hear him say my name. <em>He's dreaming about me?<em> I wait a moment, silently deciding whether it is considered eves-dropping when the person is asleep. But my eyes widen and I can feel my cheeks heat up as I hear him moan my name again, so I awkwardly stand up and quickly go back downstairs.  
>I need to have some water to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth, and I should be getting ready to head out again anyway. I still need to find antibiotics and whatever else that I can find. Anything will help us right now.<p>

**Oliver's POV**

"He knew where we were and you DIDN'T CARE!" I jolt in my sleep at Carl's voice shouting. It seems like this is happening a lot lately. "You jus' hid behind those fences an' WAITED fo-"  
>I sit up, quickly making my way out of the bedroom, staying quiet because I don't know how welcome I will be if Carl knew I was awake right now.<br>"They're all gone now! BECAUSE OF YOU!" he roars, and I stop mid-step half way down the staircase, scared that he is talking to me. Does he know I'm here? But I realise who he is screaming at with his next words. "THEY COUNTED ON YOU! YOU WERE THEIR LEADER!"  
>I swallow my dry throat; relieved that Rick has awoken, but worried about his and Carl's argument against each other. I silently skip the last two steps to get the bottom of the stairs. I dip my head, leaning against the wall by the doorway into the living room, hearing Carl slump to the floor and he sniffs a little as he fights his tears. "But now… you're nothing."<br>I chew my lip. Carl has relied on his father ever since I met him. He devoted his loyalty to please him, and I can't begin to understand his disappointment after the attack. I don't agree with him though. But I don't think Carl agrees with himself either. He's hurting, and he just needs to get this out of his system.  
>I expect Rick to yell back at his son for his words, but the only sound I hear is cans and plastic packets clatter to the floor, and Carl begins to leave through the dining room, but my whole body erupts in goose bumps at his next words.<p>

"I'd be fine if you died."

I freeze. Completely shocked by what Carl has just said as I realise that Rick must still be unconscious. _But, Carl doesn't mean it. I know he doesn't… I just know._  
>I listen, paralysed to the spot as Carl walks out into the hallway. I don't even try to hide or quickly dart into the living room out of his sight. I just stare at him, as he walks out. He sees me out of his peripheral vision, and his head darts to look at me. He startles and stares at me, as I see his pupils fully dilated and wild form his anger.<br>"I'm sorry," I apologise automatically.  
>I watch as his brow knits into a fierce frown, and I ready myself for him to unleash his own bottled up hell on me. But instead, to my complete confusion, he just averts his eyes to the floor. He sighs quickly, and then, without a word from either of us, he leaves through the back door.<br>I stare after him, my breathing hitching from my shock of what I have just heard and the relief that he didn't seem angry at me. Then, my legs move on impulse and I grab my machete and holster from beside the couch which Rick still resides on. I slip on my sneakers, ignoring my now crimson red, right sneaker, before I leave through the back door.  
>Carl isn't the hardest person to follow; he is walking slowly, almost like he is waiting for me to come after him. But even when I do catch up, ignoring the jabbing pain pretty much everywhere, he doesn't acknowledge me anyway.<br>We keep walking for a while, slowly, as Carl is being subtly considerate of my condition, until finally, after walking a few silent, dead blocks, Carl stops outside of a house.  
>I don't know why, but as he squares up to the house and takes a few steps towards a small solar power light that is stuck in the ground, I think of an old western movie that I watched with Patrick when I was 10, 'The Good The Bad and The Ugly'. Maybe it's the way he dubiously bends down and pulls the light from the soil, and then twists it in his hand before strolling up to the door.<br>He glances behind him towards me, and I take that as my invitation to follow him to the house. I walk after him, fiddling with the strap of my holster, trying not to think of the man I murdered it for as Carl surveys the porch and front door for a way in. "Do you want me to use my machete?" I offer, raising my hand over my shoulder to grab it.  
>But Carl shakes his head. "I got it."<br>I stand back, as he readies himself for a run up, and then sprints for the door, hurtling himself into it and pretty much bouncing straight off with a bang and a grunt. He lands on the floor, rolling onto his back and staring up at the porch ceiling and I can almost feel his body shake from the hard blow. He lies there, embarrassment turning his cheeks red. But I'm not about to say 'I told you so' so I purse my lips and frown at him.  
>"Dammit," he mutters, closing his eyes.<br>My gaze catches the skin between his hip and his abdomen where his top has risen, revealing the corner of that strange 'V' shape part, and I am unable to stop the subtle smile that creeps across my lips. I tare my eyes away just as he opens his, and I lean down to help him stand again.  
>But I am unintentionally still smiling a little and Carl rolls his eyes, under the impression that I am gloating at him. "N-no, I wasn't-" I stutter, but stop, realising that I can't exactly tell him why I was really smiling, not right now at least. So I drop my gaze, picking up his hat that had fallen off. I hand it to him, still averting my eyes. He takes it and puts it on.<br>I step aside, as he goes to try the door another way, but he keeps staring at me as he walks past, rolling the solar light in his hands as he strolls to the door, finally averting his eyes when he gets to it.  
>He makes surprisingly short work of the latch, cracking it open with hard jabs to the lock and quick shoves to the wooden surface, until it snaps open.<br>We head inside, searching the ground floor first, the same way we did in the other house yesterday. It seems clear, so we head into the kitchen. "Look in the cupboards for antibiotics," Carl instructs.  
>I nod and do as he says. "And food," I add.<br>He glances at me, pursing his lips into what I almost want to call a smile. "Let's jus' find your antibiotics first," he says, and I can't help but smile at the much missed tentativeness of his tone. But I look back to the cupboard before he sees my smile become too wide, because I don't want him to remember he is still trying to hate me.  
>A moment later, I hear him sigh through his nose. "I found some," he says, showing me the small box of antibiotics. The relief in his expression is kind of refreshing, if it weren't for the continual flicking sensation in my temple.<br>I look at him, doing well to suppress my wincing. "Good. I'll take them at the house. Come on, let's keep looking," I suggest.  
>Carl nods, and continues our search. To our relief, we find a few cupboards next to the sink that are almost full of canned goods. I grin at the stash."Awesome," Carl whispers, grabbing as many as his hands can hold and stuffing them into the supply bag.<br>"I win," I say, subtly teasing him for when I caught him just after he yacked.  
>Carl smirks at me for a moment, before straightening his face and continuing to empty the cupboard with me. When we finish, and are sure that the kitchen is as empty as we can make it, we are about to leave and head upstairs. But Carl suddenly stops and stares at something above the window on top of the high counter. I furrow my brow in confusion, and carefully follow his gaze. <em>Oh my god!<em> I gasp as my eyes happen upon a large tin of pudding.  
>I stare at it in utter awe, before automatically rushing forward. Carl grabs a shoe rack and sets it by the counter for me to climb up. My eyes meet the pudding can again, and it's like coming across your best friend at the mall by a complete happy coincidence. <em>Hello old friend…<em> I grab it, and crouch down to climb off of the counter, but in my excitement, I had forgotten about my injuries and I wince, grunting as a shooting pain radiates through my temple.  
>"H-hold on. I got you," Carl says, taking my hand as I crouch down on the counter. He carefully takes my shoulders, and helps me to the ground. All the while, I keep the pudding tin clutched securely under my arm. <em>I don't care if I am about to pass out again. The pudding has to be safe! <em>**_Jeeze, even after over a year in the apocalypse, you're still a sucker for chocolate…_**_ Yes. Yes I am._  
>Carl slowly leads me into the hallway, setting me down on the floor for me to rest my head on my knees until the pain subsides. "You gonna be okay?" he asks, crouching down in front of me and pushing his hat down over his head a little more.<br>"Yeah. I'm fine," I nod, but doing that hurts, so I wince again as Carl places his hand on my shoulder to steady me. _Why he is suddenly so comfortable with me again? _**_Maybe after his blow out with his comatose dad, he really has gotten a lot off of his chest. And you did pass out in front of him yesterday night, too. He is still Carl. He is still capable of empathy you know?_**_ Yeah, of course. I was just wondering. I'm not complaining. _**_No, me neither._**  
>Carl purses his lips. "Jus' stay down here. I'll check up stairs," he says, and then, to my surprise, a smile spreads across his lips as he says his next sentence, "you can keep the pudding company."<br>I laugh. And with that, Carl makes one last check around the bottom floor, and then heads upstairs, warning me not to eat it without him.  
>A moment passes, and I am confident that I can stand without hurting, too much, so I bring myself to my feet. But I know that if I go upstairs, my head will start spinning again, so instead, I head towards the back door.<br>I draw my machete, with the pudding tin still wedged under my machete-less arm. I find the back door keys still left inside the door, so I twist it and slowly push it open. I poke my head out, to see a small back porch, and a -once- cosy looking garden just beyond it. I step out onto the porch, noticing a swinging love seat hanging from the ceiling.  
>I remember the one that I had in my home before all of this, but it broke when me and Patrick were playing 'Soldiers'. I was 12 and he was 13 - so what? Like Patrick said, we're immature. But anyway, we leapt on the swinging couch, and the whole thing fell down on top of us, and then the ceiling almost caved in. We were lucky we weren't crushed, but Mom and Dad were livid. We were grounded for, I don't even know how long, and my parents were never the strict kind. I used to think of it as a bad memory, but now I'd do anything to go back to it.<br>I go over to the sofa swing and sit on it. I push it back and forth with my leg, the other tucked under neath me, hearing the squeak of the metal joints as I am guessing this swing hasn't been used for a long time. I let my head roll back, and I close my eyes for a minute, enjoying the sounds of living birds as they chirp in the trees over head.  
>But I decide that I can't enjoy this for too long though, so I open my eyes and look ahead of me. But my heart stops as I see, on the other side of the porch, a dog bed, and then just next to it, a dead puppy. Maybe I could have called it a puppy before, but all that is left of it now is it's head. I stare at the white mould growing out of its eye sockets, and the remains of it's decomposed body that has now degraded so much that it is more of just a dark shade that has rotted into the wooden porch.<br>I clasp my hands to my mouth. I have seen so much worse than this before, but everything feels cold, as I am suddenly reminded that this world destroys the innocent just as brutally as everything else… just like Judith. I grimace, as cold shivers of hatred and anger shoot down my spine and make me feel like I am about to explode.  
>But my thoughts cut off at two gunshots. I startle and look up to where I heard it in the house.<br>"Carl!" I shout. But I am answered with another gunshot. I rush back into the house, and my heart pounds adrenaline through my body as I hear violent struggling from upstairs. "Oh, shit!" I hiss, sprinting upstairs to the struggle. The rush of adrenalin proving to be enough to elude the pain I know would sear through my head right now in a calmer circumstance.  
>I crash to the second floor, searching for him. But my stomach drops as I find him knelt on the floor, kicking at a walkers face. "Carl!" I scream. The thing snaps its jaw at his leg, gripping hold of him in its rotten hands and pulling him to its mouth. Carl makes high grunting noises as he fights against it, and I hurtle forward with my machete drawn. But I know that if I chop at the walker, I might get Carl, so I kick the thing in the face instead.<br>It falls back, releasing Carl and allowing the teenager to scurry away, but not before ripping off Carl's shoe in the process. But Carl doesn't seem to care.  
>"Oliver! C'mon!" He grabs my arm and pulls me as he runs out of the bedroom. I try to pull the door closed behind us, but it's blocked by a clutter of books. <em>Fuck!<em>  
>The walker manages to get to its feet and comes after us, as we furiously kick and shove the books out of the way. Until just in time, Carl kicks the last few books into the bedroom and slams the door closed.<br>We flatten our backs to the door, as if it will help if the walker decides to learn how to work a door knob. But it doesn't, because it can't, so we shakily remove ourselves from the wooden surface.  
>I lean forward onto my knees, breathless, but not from my asthma for a change, just from the rush of adrenaline and shock. Carl doubles over panting in his exhaustion and relief.<br>"You could've been killed! _Si cazzo!_" I yell at him. After my dream, using Italian swear words and insults out loud seems a lot more appealing. **_I don't think that that's what Mom meant by not forgetting your ancestors…_**_ So? It won't make any difference either way. And besides, I can call Carl a dick now without him knowing. _**_I don't think so…_**_ What, why? _**_Well… by his facial expression, I think he can guess what you meant…_**  
>Unfortunately, I'm right. Carl looks furious. <em>Oh, shit<em>. I stand up straight, and he glares at me for a long moment and I stare right back, suddenly feeling the hairs stand on end on the back of my neck.  
>But then, Carl grabs me. I think I knew he would. I knew he'd kiss me, and he does, and I kiss him back. Only, it's not a gentle or tentative kiss. It's not a kiss of excitement or affection like our first kiss was. His kiss is filled with anger and frustration and relief. Mine is, too. It's mutual, like electric rippling through the both of us, as he presses his chapped and dry lips to mine, gripping a fist full of my hair and lacing his fingers through it. I hold him around his waist, wanting nothing more than to get as close to him as possible, to heal him, to make him stop hurting. And when his lips are soft and moist and perfect, and when we have relieved ourselves of as much of our frustration and anger and confusion as we can, we pull apart from one another, both of us shaking violently.<br>I swallow, staring at him and panting more than before as I see his pupils, fully blown and wild with anger and curiosity and relief and appreciation. Carl's expression is suddenly full of emotion, as if everything he wanted to do or say since The Prison is silently spilling from his soul in one single moment.  
>But the walker inside of the room finally brings us both back to reality as it shoves itself against the door, scratching and growling for the living flesh he knows is just a few inches away, evident from the sound of our hurried breathing and panting.<br>Carl looks away, before crouching down to pick up a piece of white chalk. He stands up again and turns to the door, and I watch him, my whole anatomy buzzing as he writes, in the worst hand writing I have ever seen from The Young Grimes;

_WALKER INSIDE - GOT MY SHOE - DIDN'T GET ME_

I stare at it and Carl turns to me, dropping the chalk on the floor at our feet. But then, a smile creeps across his flushed face and he raises his brow. "Y-you up for some pudding now?" he asks nervously, still a little breathless.  
>"Uh huh," I smile at him and nod, "always."<br>Carl does a sweet breathy chuckle, before turning to the staircase and ascending down it. I follow, pursing my lips and fighting my beaming smile as we both head downstairs.  
>I find the pudding tin where I left it on the swinging couch, ignoring the dead puppy as Carl grabs a can opener from the kitchen and we make our way out of the house, heading back to our original.<br>But I hear the walker from upstairs and I turn around to look at it. I watch it for a moment, tilting my head as I examine the rotting, grey arm that reaches out for something it'll never get.  
>I suddenly feel very determined, like I want to take something back from everything that has happened over the past year. I have lost my brother, my home, my parents, The Prison… it's just me, Carl and Rick now. And I want to do something to let that fact be recognised. We've made it this far. A stupid walker isn't going to stop us now.<br>I go back to the porch. "Oliver?" Carl says, confused by my departure.  
>"Come on, help me up," I grunt, as I climb onto the banister and reach up to the gutter. Carl furrows his brow, but comes back to the house. He hands me the pudding tin and I place it on the edge of the roof. "Here, gimme your shoulder."<br>"W-what? Are you sure?" Carl asks worriedly. "What about your head?"  
>I grin at him, enjoying the potentially dangerous, unstoppable-ness I feel right now. "I'm fine, you big worry wart. Now come on. Give me your shoulder," I say, motioning for him to stand beside me. He does. He crouches and grabs my ankles as I stand on his right shoulder.<br>"You ready," he grunts.  
>"Yep, go," I say, looking up at the roof edge and readying my hands to grab it. He pulls himself to stand, raising me enough to kind of jumphoist myself onto the roof. I struggle, but I manage to roll myself up and onto it securely.  
>"Grab it," Carl says, as he throws up the supply bag, and thankfully, I catch it without spilling anything.<br>"Okay, now you," I say, leaning over the edge and holding my hand out as he climbs the banister. He takes my extremity and I pull him up, doing my best to ignore the returning throb to my head. He climbs up, and I give myself a minute to stop hurting, as  
>Carl rummages around in the supply bag, pulling out the antibiotics and some pain killers he must have found somewhere in the kitchen too. I look at him, and he shuffles over to me, bobbing the small boxes of pills in his hand, and holding his empty gun in the other. He reads the label of the antibiotics for a moment.<br>"Okay… so, you gotta take six a day. An', you're supposed to take 'em for a week, but there's only…" he carefully pours them out into his palm and counts the orange and grey pills, "enough for almost four days. Twenty two of 'em," he says.  
>I nod. "Uh. Two days," I correct him, "your Dad'll need them, too," I say truthfully. Carl looks at his lap, shaking his head, so slightly that I think that it's just my head throbbing and I am seeing things, but his expression is all I need to know that he is loosing hope for his father's awakening. "Carl, he'll be okay."<br>Carl suddenly looks up at me. "How do you know that?" he orders.  
>"I just do," I say, "look… he was in a coma for an entire month before he found you and your Mom… the way I see it, Rick is as close to invincible as this world is gonna get."<br>Carl considers this for a moment, until finally he nods. But instead of talking more about his father, he leans over and grabs the pudding tin. I hand him the can opener and watch him open the pudding, swallowing hard as my mouth begins to salivate in anticipation.  
>"Spoons," Carl mutters, twisting away at the can opener, as though there will be gold inside, which in all honesty, the pudding is as good as that to us right now.<br>I swivel around, rushing to grab the spoons from the supply bag. "Got 'em," I say, completely loosing my articulate accent as my excitement begins to get the better of me.  
>Carl snorts a chuckle at me, before prying the lid open and staring at the beautiful chocolaty goodness inside. I stare at it, overwhelmed by awe and the unbearable yearning from my sweet tooth.<br>I hand Carl his spoon and stick mine in, scooping up a greedy amount of the pudding as Carl does the same shortly after. Even I was surprised by the moan I let out when I taste the sweet brilliance in my mouth, making my taste buds feel like they are exploding. Carl laughs at me, but has almost the same reaction when he eats some too. But I don't laugh, I just eat more.  
>We eat continually, and somewhere in my sudden pleasure overpowered brain I remind myself to slow down. We haven't eaten much of anything over the past day and a half, especially junk food, so eating too fast could make us yack. Well, it'd definitely make me throw up, as I have a pitifully weak stomach.<br>In spite of myself, I scoop another mouthful. "We should slow down a little," I say, adding to the spite.  
>Carl takes another spoonful too. "I don't think I can," he admits through his mouthful.<br>I swallow. "I have missed pudding so much," I say, trying to talk as a tool to pace us. "I hardly even ate any before this though, it was usually just big cat candy bars or chips."  
>Carl nods, forcing himself to stop eating for a moment as he fishes out 2 antibiotics and 2 pain killers from their boxes. He hands them to me and motions me to take them with the pudding. I do as he says, throwing the 4 pills into my mouth and swallowing them happily with another mouthful of chocolate.<br>"I miss…" he thinks, letting his head roll back as he returns to our previous conversation, "Comics," he says slowly, looking at me again.  
>I smile into my lap. "Video games," I say, "and Cable TV."<br>"Mom's Sunday pancakes," he says, raising his brow. I glance up at him, remembering when he told me about Lori's 'Famous Sunday Pancakes', apparently they were terrible, but Lori wanted her family to be the kind of family who eat pancakes on Sunday. Even though Carl didn't particularly enjoy them, he still misses them, because they are home to him.  
>I chuckle to myself. "And Michonne's stale M&amp;M's," I say, thinking of what reminds me of home.<br>But then everything comes back to me… all of it. Everyone who has died and everything that has happened to us suddenly hits me like a tone of bricks.  
>That stopped us eating.<br>We both lose our smiles and just stare glumly down at the front yard, listening to the walker growl and hiss at us through the stupid window. _**Really Oliver?**__**Fucking really?**_In the midst of all of the exploding taste buds and sudden happy feelings, I had forgotten about everything that had happened. I'd forgotten that our home was destroyed and our friends and family are dead.  
>A long moment passes, and I prod aggressively at the pudding in the half empty tin. "Sorry. I just… forgot, for a minute," I apologise, wearily glancing at Carl again.<br>He meets my gaze and nods a little. "It's okay."  
>I avert my eyes, staring down at my blood stained sneaker, as the flash backs of the man I murdered rush through my head in tandem, making my whole body ache with guilt in a worse way than any of my injuries. My despair and remorse washes over me, and I can feel my face contort as I try to hold back my tears.<br>Carl stares at me in confusion, opening and closing his mouth as he tries to think of words to console me. But he doesn't know what is wrong, he just thinks that I'm upset from the fall of The Prison, but it was his home too, so he has no words to console me for something that he is equally as distraught about.  
>But my emotions take over me. I begin to shake and sob. I double over on the roof top, wailing as I clutch my aching middle. Carl puts his hand on my back. "Oliver? W-what happened when you were with Michonne?" his voice cracks, realising that I haven't told him something yet.<br>I lean away from him onto my hands, tears dripping from my eyes onto the mossy roof surface. "I… I-" I try, but my lungs rack with my cries and I can't say it.  
>Carl pulls me to him, and I envelope my arms around his middle, clutching his shoulders for dear life as I wail into the crook of his neck.<br>"Carl. Carl I killed him. I-I killed him!" I cry.  
>I hear Carl's breathing hitch, and he holds me tighter. "Who?" he asks.<br>I pull away from him, wiping my face. "Th-the man who got me out of the truck… he was gonna shoot Michonne… I…" But I can't say what I did to him, so I glance at my shoe, sobbing as the man's crushed head flashes in front of my blurry vision.  
>Carl glances at my shoe, blinking as he puts two and two together, and then his expression softens. "Oh," is all he says, realising what I have done, what I will always have done, and what I have to live with for the rest of my life.<br>"Yeah…" I sigh, hiccupping into my hands.  
>A long moment passes, and I finally stop crying. I hold the pudding tin in my left hand, and let my right hand fall to my side to lean on a little. Carl glances at it, and then, without looking directly at me, he moves his hand and slowly places it on mine.<br>I swivel my hand around so that my palm faces his and I tangle my fingers into his own. He squeezes my hand and runs his thumb over mine. I glance at him, and Carl offers a small comforting smile, before leaning forward a little. I think he is about to kiss me, but he talks. "D'you know what else I miss?" he says, trying to cheer me up.  
>I stare at him for a moment, distracted and caught off guard by the mischievousness in the musky voice he'd put on, and when I remember what he actually said again, I shake my head no, furrowing my brow to look curious rather than unexpectedly and suddenly attracted to him.<br>He smiles at my reaction. "I miss the playboy centrefolds that I found hidden in the library," he says, nervously averting his eyes and smirking at the pudding tin in my lap.  
>Despite how terrible I feel, I crack up, giggling into my hands and hiding my blushing cheeks like a little school girl. "I knew it!" I laugh. "I fucking knew it."<br>Carl chuckles proudly, satisfied that he has cheered the mood again as he leans away to continue his meal. I compose myself, stifling my laughter into my hands until I have finished, and then, we just keep eating, watching over the dead neighbourhood as we let ourselves smile at it from the roof.  
>This is just what happens now. We do bad stuff, when we have to. But then, we just get on with it. Because we have to now.<p>

When we are almost done with the pudding tin, with only a few spoonfuls left, the sun is beginning to set, so we gather our things and climb down. "Oh. I've got somethin' for you," Carl says as we begin walking down the driveway onto the road.  
>"Oh yeah? What's that?" I glance at him, as he fishes into his back jeans pocket and pulls out a crumpled, grey piece of fabric. But my eyes widen as he unravels it and presents it to me. "Oh, my beanie!" I exclaim.<br>Carl smiles and comfortably puts it on my head for me, but regardless, I lift my hands and pull at it, revelling in the sense of comfort and familiarity that the hat has provided for me for the past 6 or 7 months. Carl shakes his head in jest, but keeps his dimpled smile.  
>"C'mon," he says, jerking his head for me to follow him towards the house.<br>We finish the tin just as we make it back, so Carl takes it from my hands and drops it on the curb, before walking with me to the back door. He pulls it open, and I listen for Rick. _Do you think he'll be awake yet? _**_I don't know…_**_ But, Rick… He'll be fine. He'll probably be in the kitchen making himself some food, and Carl will hug and embrace him and everything will be okay again. It has to be._  
>But I'm wrong. We find Rick in exactly the same state as we left him in the living room. Carl's expression hardens, but I don't say anything as we stare down at the man asleep on the couch. There is nothing to say. It's just a matter of waiting now.<br>Waiting for what exactly... I don't know.

**Notes**

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was a little disorientating, with all the time Oliver slept to recuperate, but hey :) Please leave a little comment on your way to tell me of your thoughts :)

Favourite part(s)?  
>Worst part(s)?<br>Helpful criticism is truly appreciated :D

I wasn't sure about their kiss in this one, but I just thought it was a good way for them to express their overwhelmed emotions in that moment or whatever :) Tell me what you thought? :)

I will upload the next chapter if I get a few comments or reviews :)

As always,  
>Happy reading xx :<em>)<em>


	16. Chapter 16 Odd Shoes

**Eli **Oh my Jesus! Thank you for spending so much time catching up! Hope you enjoy this one xxx

**Carl's POV**

_What if he never wakes up? What if he leaves me, again. What if it's just me and Oliver against the whole fucked up world?_ I shake my head, reminding myself that I don't care about my father anymore. Because I don't. Regardless, I can still feel the tears welling in my eyes as I watch him, unmoving and oblivious to our presence, just like he will be for the rest of his life, most likely. But, I don't care.  
>"He's gonna be okay, Carl. He will be," Oliver whispers as he stands beside me.<br>I shoot him a glare, before stepping over to Dad and taking his gun. I need one now, after I used all my ammo earlier. I can tell that Oliver wants to protest, but he keeps his mouth shut and steps aside to let me walk out of the living room.  
>I head up stairs. I don't want to talk about anything right now. I just want to tune it all out. Ignore it, as much as possible if I rather, <em>because<em> I can.  
>Oliver follows me upstairs, pulling off his sheath and carrying it beside him. I glance at his blood stained sneaker, feeling the carpeted staircase under my socked, shoeless foot as well. "We should find some new shoes," I suggest quietly.<br>Oliver looks at me and nods. "Okay," he agrees, getting to the top of the stairs and pulling off his blue shoe. "Sneakers aren't really the most practical foot wear," he says, trying to lighten the mood with a smirk pulling at the corner of his lip. I watch dismissively, as he pokes his finger out of a small hole in the worn sneaker sole.  
>I relent, and let myself chuckle slightly as I take the sneaker from his hand, watching him as he pulls off the blood stained one and hands it over, too.<br>I quickly go into the bedroom and pull open the window. I tie the sneakers together by their shoe laces, and then throw them both out. Me and Oliver lean out of the window and watch them fly through the air until we can no longer see them in the gloom, though we hear as they hit the back yard with a thump and then roll across the grass.  
>Oliver glances at me, smirking with an eyebrow cocked. "Dramatic much?" he mocks.<br>I shrug dismissively and then pull my head back into the room, shivering slightly from the night chill.  
>I look around. "All right, I'm guessing we'll be doing a lot more walking than driving when we get out of here - we're looking for something sturdy, somethin' that'll last long… Okay?" I say, rummaging around the pile of sneakers and sand shoes by the door.<br>"So basically, anything but sneakers and sand shoes, right?" Oliver smirks smugly.  
>I roll my eyes at him and nod. "Yep. Pretty much," I mumble, leaving the useless foot wear where they are and checking under the bed instead.<br>"I'll check in the other rooms," Oliver announces, before heading out of the bedroom and into the landing.  
>I keep looking, but I can't find anything useful, as all the shoes are too thin or too flimsy to be convenient. But then I spot one black shoe on the top of the wardrobe, it's got a white, thick sole and looks practical enough. I grab it. But try as I might, I can't find the other damn shoe that goes with it. I search the whole room, until finally, I do find the other pair's half…<br>"What the hell?!" I grimace, half laughing at where I have found the missing shoe.  
>Oliver rushes into the room, holding a pair of hiking boots similar to my old brow pair that I only have the one of now. "What?" he winces slightly from the sudden movement, but his expression is more confused and spooked than in pain.<br>I watch him for a moment, making sure he is okay, before giving him and exhausted look and then motioning to what I had seen previously. "The damn kid who lived here was insane," I mutter angrily.  
>The other shoe, I have now realised, has been made into some kind of art display. It hangs from a hook in the ceiling, with bright paint splatters over the originally black fabric. Odd household objects dangle from it, like fairy lights and cutlery and cheap looking jewellery. We stare at it, furrowing our brows. Maybe if the world hadn't gone to shit and none of this had happened, I would think it looks pretty cool, but all I can think about is the complete pointlessness of 'abstract art' in this world, now.<br>"Maybe it was an art project for school or something?" Oliver queries, scratching at the back of his head under his beanie hat.  
>I shrug and take a deep breath. "Well, couldn't he have used a stupid teddy bear. Or somethin'… I don't know - not useful?! Jeeze, what am I gonna wear now? There's nothing else here," I grumble, crossing my arms as I glare at the pointless ceiling ornament.<br>Oliver laughs quietly, shaking his head a little. I think that the pain medication is helping him, so I guess that's something to be happy about. "Just wear that one, Man," he taps the shoe under my forearm. "It's the right foot – I mean, the left, but it's the right shoe that you needed to go with the one you have now… oh, you know what I mean!" he rambles awkwardly.  
>I chuckle for a moment, but then harden my face and frown at him. "So? Oliver, I'm not wearing odd shoes."<br>"Sure you are. You don't exactly have a choice," he says, but I don't relent. "Look, no one's gonna even care, except you. Plus, you already have two left feet anyway, maybe having a different shoe colour on each foot might help you tell the difference… you know, that's your left foot," he pats my left leg, "and that's still your right," he says, patting my right leg, mocking me.  
>I push him away and scoff. "Screw you. I'm not that clumsy," I mutter, knowing that I am lying through my teeth, because in all honesty, my hand eye coordination is awful. But it only goes as far as my legs and body. I'm great aim with a fire arm, thankfully. I mean, apart from a few hiccups… today being a series of big hiccups simultaneously occurring several times in a row… but I think I'll keep that to myself.<br>Oliver smirks at me, and I am almost certain that he is thinking the same thing, but he holds his tongue for my sake and then pulls on his new matching shoes, leaning on me a little more than he needs to for support. "Who's clumsy now?" I mock rhetorically.  
>Oliver chuckles, but we both know that he's doesn't really need to lean on me at all, but I'm not about to tell him to move, so I just stand still, enjoying myself as I play along with pretending to help him stay steady.<br>When he is finished, he looks up to the bed and walks over to it. I furrow my brow, watching for a moment as he makes the bed, pulling at the sheets and positioning the pillows, as if it's the most expected thing to do in the circumstance. I chuckle quietly and put on my new shoe. Somehow, Oliver's behaviour doesn't surprise me. It's the kind of thing he does. His family are all dead, his home destroyed, and Oliver makes the bed.  
>I decide that Oliver should be taking some more medication about now, so I take out 2 antibiotics from the supply bag and then motion him to follow me into the bathroom.<br>I try the tap, but no water comes out. "Oh, dammit. This was running yesterday," I mumble, frowning at the dry tap.  
>Oliver comes in and purses his lips at me. "You must've used the last it had. Wait, why did you use the water anyway?" he asks.<br>I sigh. "I had to clean your wounds last night, too. Don't worry, the water is clean. Dad said that he checked the tank - said it was full, too," I try the tap again, nothing. "So, it should still be running," I say irritated. "I was gonna get you some water, you need to take two more," I explain, presenting the antibiotics to him.  
>Oliver shakes his head and steps towards me. "Nah. I can dry swallow them," he says, taking the two pills from my hand.<br>"Okay," I say, "do you want pain killers, too?" I ask, about to grab them from my pocket.  
>Oliver shakes his head, crinkling his nose. "Thanks, but I'm okay for now. I'll just have some more in the morning," he answers.<br>I nod.

**Oliver's POV**

I toss the pills into my mouth, making an involuntary gagging noise of protest as I struggle to swallow. But I do, finally. "That was a lot harder than I thought," I grimace, feeling the tablets travel down my throat.  
>Carl chuckles at me, patting my shoulder in mocking praise. I am about to make a sarcastic comment at him that I haven't thought of yet, but I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I double take, staring in shock at the state that I am in.<br>First, I see the small neat band aid on my right temple, it's about 2 inches wide over where the cut is, with a red and yellow circle in the middle of it, confirming my suspicions of it being infected.  
>I look at Carl through the reflection in the mirror, gritting my teeth. "It's infected… you said you didn't know," I try to hide my irritation at him for keeping it from me.<br>He dips his head, averting his eyes. "I know… I didn't want you to worry," he mutters, before stubbornly looking at me again and straightening his posture a little, silently telling me that he refuses to be sorry for keeping it from me.  
>I sigh, chewing my lip and nodding in thanks to him. "Can… uh, can you give me a minute?" I ask quietly. Carl looks up at me apologetically and opens his mouth to say something, but I interrupt him. "It's fine, Carl… Please?" I know he wants to argue, but he holds his tongue and kindly leaves the bathroom. I nod to him in thanks as he closes the door behind him.<br>I look back at myself; the bruised and battered mess staring back at me. My hand raises to the large purple and blue bruise on the left side of my face, stretching from my left eye across my cheek and down to my chin. I wince as I feel the small scabbing cuts along the bruised skin, and memories of my face hitting the soil just after The Governor hit me flood my mind, making my hands shake, and I have to close my eyes and take deep breaths for a moment to calm myself down again.  
>I move my hand to the other side of my face, feeling the bandage under my scabbing fingers, and then run my hand down my neck. I pull down the collar of my top, grimacing and wincing as I see the large bruise from where the man I murdered hit me with his rifle just before Hershel was decapitated when I tried to help him. Tears well in my eyes and I press my hand on the contusion, wincing, but glad for the pain, as if I deserve it for not being able to save my friend.<br>Sobs attempt to emit themselves from my aching throat, but I do well to silence them. I pull off my shirt, and then my top, roughly wiping my tears with the clothing before dropping them on the floor.  
>But when I look back at myself again, my stomach drops as I see the state that the rest of my body is in. I gingerly pull back the bandage around my middle, before carefully grazing my fingers over the long cut across my abdomen. I don't even remember how this happened. Maybe it was when Michonne and I were running away from The Governor and his soldiers as they tore down the fences, or maybe it was when I fell with that walker as my asthma attack became too much for me. I don't know. But whatever happened, whatever it was that cut me, it wasn't a clean cut, it's jagged and ripped, with swollen and battered skin around the edge.<br>But I am just glad that Carl and Rick cleaned and patched me up before I saw them. I don't even want to think how bad the injuries must have looked before.  
>I pull my bandage back over my cut and then put my top back on, forcing myself to stop wallowing in my self pity for any longer. There are worse things to worry about right now.<br>I grab my shirt and leave the bathroom, and as I go past the bedroom, I toss the clothing in, hearing it slide across the floor in a heap as I head back downstairs. I find Carl sat on the floor, leant against the corner of the couch deep in thought. About what, I couldn't begin to guess.  
>He looks up to me when I enter. "Hey," he says quietly, offering me a smaller than noticeable smile as I sit beside him on his left.<br>"Did you manage to give him anything?" I ask dubiously, motioning to Rick and hearing the wheezy, laboured breathing from him.  
>Carl shakes his head, glancing behind him to his father, before looking back to his lap and frowning. "I tried," he says, "but he won't wake up."<br>"He will," I purse my lips. "Eventually, he'll wake up, Carl."  
>"Yeah? As what?" Carl barks, glaring at me in his anger. I would call it sudden, but I was expecting it. I hold my ground, being just as stubborn as he is, before after a moment, Carl relents and looks down to his lap again. I wait patiently for him to soften his face. And after a little while, he does. "Sorry," he mumbles.<br>I shrug and look out of the window, staring blankly at the cloudy night through the see through, floral curtain. My eyes drift to the door, and I examine the TV cable tied around to doorknob and the curtain hook.  
>"Carl?" I say, looking back to the teenager.<br>"Yeah," Carl nods.  
>I avert my eyes for a moment, furrowing my brow. "Who..." I begin, but I falter. So I look up at him again, seeing the curiosity in his expression. "Who's Shane?"<p>

**Carl's POV**

I knew that Oliver would ask me eventually. I knew that when things died down and we were alone, that he would remember what I said to my father yesterday night. So, I prepared myself. I thought about what I'd say to him, how to explain everything about what happened in the first few months of all of this.  
>"Shane Walsh. He was Dad's best friend an' work partner in King County," I say, just like I had rehearsed it in my head. "Shane was there when Dad got shot. An he saved me and Mom; got us out before it got too bad to leave. He told us Dad was dead... Shane said that when he was in the hospital tryin' to rescue him, he couldn't find a pulse... But... H-he... I don't know... Maybe he didn't wanna save him... Or maybe Mom w-wouldn't leave u-unless he lied about it... I-I don't know for sure... H-he... Him an' Mom... after it all... they, uh, they were..."<br>This is hard. It doesn't seem to matter that I've rehearsed what to say, how to say it. The words just don't want to come out of me.  
>The corners of my eyes crinkle as I go over what I wanted to say in my head again, forcing my struggling mind to just say what I need to say. But I can't, and I don't understand why. My frustration builds, and my courage begins to fade at the same rate.<br>Oliver sits forward, watching me as I meet his gaze, and the familiar golden flecks in his brown eyes are enough to give me the strength that seems to elude me right now. I take a deep breath, and then, I talk. And I don't stop talking for a long time, not until I am finished, done and exhausted.  
>I tell Oliver about Mom and Shane's affair. I tell Oliver about how Judith might've been Shane's daughter just as much as she might've been Dad's, but despite that, I tell Oliver that Judith will always have been my sister, and I will always have been her big brother. I tell Oliver that I idolised Shane, respected Shane, and thought of him as a second father to me. I tell Oliver about how jealous Shane became when my Dad finally came back to us. I tell Oliver about when Mom found out she was pregnant, and Shane wanted me and Mom and the baby to himself. I tell Oliver about Randall, and how my father and Shane kept him prisoner in Hershel's shed. I tell Oliver about when Shane caught me in the shed with Randall, and how Randall tried to convince me to let him go. I tell Oliver about how I encouraged my father when he was going to execute Randall, and how my father chose not to kill him because of me. I tell Oliver that Shane took Randall into the woods, and snapped his neck. I tell Oliver that Shane used Randall's disappearance to lure Dad into the woods alone, to kill him in cold blood. I tell Oliver that Dad figured it out... I tell Oliver that I watched my father murder his best friend. I tell Oliver that when my father realised that I was there, that I saw everything, when he turned to me, begging for me to hear him out as I raised my gun to his head, that I fought against myself on whether or not I could pull he trigger, <em>should<em> pull the trigger. I tell Oliver that Shane came back as a walker. I tell Oliver that if he hadn't, I would have killed my father, but I didn't. I tell Oliver that; confused and afraid, I killed Shane's walker and saved my dad's life.  
>But when I finally finish talking, I am so completely drained that I am almost unable to keep my eyes open. Without thinking too much about it, I rest my head on Oliver's shoulder.<br>"Thank you for telling me all of that," he whispers into the top of my head.  
>"Sorry... you know... if it was a lot to take in," I mumble tiredly, taking a deep breath and struggling to think of anything other that how comfortable his shoulder seems right now.<br>Oliver shrugs gently as to not disturb me too much. "Maybe it is a little overwhelming. But I'm still glad you told me," he whispers, moving his lips on my hair.

**Oliver's POV**

I feel Carl become heavier on me, after everything that he has said over the past few hours, I can't imagine how drained he must feel. I tap his hand, briefly running my finger over the back of it to wake him. "Don't fall asleep sat here, Carl. Go lie on the cushions," I suggest to him quietly.  
>He forces his eyes to open a little more and nods. "I-I will," he says, bringing himself to sit up a little more. "You go to bed. I'll try giving Dad some antibiotics again, an' then I'll go to sleep." He yawns sleepily.<br>"Are you sure? I can help," I offer.  
>"No, that's fine," Carl shakes his head and fakes a small smile, "jus' get some sleep, you need it."<br>I watch him for a moment, resisting the urge to kiss him for his selflessness. "So do you, Carl," I say quietly, smiling with appreciation for him.  
>He purses his lips, and then stubbornly motions for me to leave again. "Sleep," he insists.<br>I relent, bringing myself to my feet and walking into the hallway. Just as I reach the stairs, I look back to him, seeing him nod to me and then bring himself to his knees to try to wake his father from his vegetative state. But I know that Rick won't wake up yet, so I go upstairs before Carl has the chance to admit defeat.

**Carl's POV**

I shake my father's shoulders. "Dad. C'mon, wake up," I whisper, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. But nothing. He doesn't stir, like I knew he wouldn't, like I know Oliver knew he wouldn't.  
>I slump back to the floor, leaning against the couch. I don't realise I am drifting off to sleep after mere moments, and only managing to vaguely consider moving to sleep on the cushions like Oliver told me to, but before I act on my thoughts, I fall asleep where I am.<p>

**Oliver's POV**

_I dream of that dead puppy from the other house. Only, I am the puppy. I watch, as my body regenerates and grows back its long degraded muscle and skin. My fur grows all over me, smooth and golden. Then, tired and confused and finally alive again, I bring myself to my four shaky legs. I don't know what to do, so I just make my way back to the house that I am hoping Rick and Carl are still at._  
><em>Only as I go, I am crying, no- I'm whimpering. The thing is, I didn't realise that I was even sad, but no matter how hopeful I feel that I will find Carl and Rick in the house, as I climb the steps to the front door, I continue to whimper desperately.<em>  
><em>I sit in front of the front door, whining and crying for someone to let me in. But my whimpers become louder and louder, and somehow they become sharper, more hysterical, more hopeless, as if they aren't even coming from me any more.<em>

I wake up, frustrated and confused. In my sleepy haze, I am still mad that no one had let me into the house. But I look around, slowly falling back into reality. Only, I realise that the whimpering doesn't stop. _But, it's not a puppy. It can't be. Can it?_  
>I slide out from my covers, and then silently tip toe out of the bedroom and into the hallway. I stop at the top of the stairs, and I realise that it is crying that I hear, desperate, terrified crying. <em>Oh no. Carl.<em> I can hear him. "I'm scared... I'm scared... I'm scared," he mutters hopelessly, over and over again.  
>My heart pounds, and I rush down the staircase, panicking in my terror for what I will find when I reach the living room. Flashes of Rick's living corps attacking Carl invade my mind. Or Carl crying over his father's dead body, only moments before the man awakens and rips into his son's flesh.<br>But when I do get to the living room, my heart stops. "Carl?" I utter, as the distraught teenager sits, slumped on the floor with his father's unmoving head rested on his lap. His father's gun lying by their side, safety off. _No._  
>Carl looks up to me, mortified and tears streaming down his face. He holds his arm out, mumbling something that I don't understand properly. But it doesn't matter. I rush forward, enveloping my body around him into an embrace. <em>Rick's dead? But, he can't be!<em> I fumble for the man, my hands shaking as I look at him, feeling his neck for a pulse.  
>"N-no. H-he's okay," Carl whimpers.<br>_Oh god! Oh god, I was so scared he'd died!_ Something like a mixture of a sob and a laugh comes out of me, a noise that no other living soul should have the misfortune of hearing, but I'm too overwhelmed with relief to care about it.  
>I hug Carl, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as he wraps his around my middle.<br>Carl begins crying again. But I know that there is nothing I can say that will council or console him. Instead, I hold Carl. I hold him so tightly that I after a long time, I am no longer sure if it's my heart or his that is breaking.

~ The Next Morning ~

Something tickles my nose. I can hardly feel it, but that only makes it more noticeable. I brush it away, but as soon as I put my hand back by what I assume is my side, the tickling returns. I open my eyes, about to freak out, thinking that it is a disease riddled insect chewing away at the end of my nose. But instead of becoming a hysterical mess like I expected, I smile.  
>It was Carl's hair. I don't remember falling asleep last night, or much of anything after I found Carl and Rick down here. But as I glance around the living room, memories reacquaint themselves with my mind; Carl and I carefully lugging Rick back onto the couch and then both of us being too tired and hysterical to prepare ourselves for bed. So, I guess we just slept, sprawled across the floor together.<br>But we didn't fall asleep like this, it seems that in the night, either Carl has rolled over and snuggled up to me, or I have rolled over and snuggled up to him... **_Will he mind?_** _I don't know..._ **_Maybe you should move? Just in case he gets mad..._**  
>Like the coward that I have become aware that I am of late, I slowly shuffle away, carefully and silently removing my head and hand from his chest, and creating a few inches distance between me and Carl. But it is impossible to numb movement, so inevitably, like I feared, Carl wakes up.<br>I stare at him, heart pounding and bracing myself for him to react. But he doesn't move, he just watches me for a moment.  
>"Morning, Carl," I take my chances, mumbling a little, but frankly just feeling glad that I can still talk with my surprisingly dry mouth.<br>He blinks, and then looks away for a moment, shivering. "H-hi," he whispers nervously, looking back to me.  
>"Here," I whisper, pulling the blanket towards him a little. He nods in thanks and uses it to warm himself up, wrapping it around him some more. "How're you feeling?"<br>"Fine," he nods and looks up to his father. I look, too, seeing Rick still out cold on the couch. Carl and I look back to each other at the same time, both unsurprised and unfazed by Rick's unchanged state.  
>I don't tell Carl that Rick will wake up, because I don't need to, Carl knows now. Rick woke up for a few moments last night, just before I got downstairs. He told Carl to stay safe, to stay inside.<br>"Thank you," Carl suddenly blurts out quietly.  
>I furrow my brow, wondering why he feels like he has to thank me so suddenly. "Uh… Y-you're welcome?" I kind of ask, smiling softly at him.<br>But Carl puts his hand on my cheek, and we stare at each other for a moment. His pupils expand and his breathing quickens. My smile widens slightly, letting my lips part a little as I do. And then Carl leans closer to me, pulling my cheek slightly with his hand and I close my eyes, about to finally let our lips touch. It's been maybe, 16 hours since we last kissed, and I am already having withdrawal symptoms.  
>But suddenly, we both startle at the sound of Rick stirring from his sleep. With a grunt of shock, Carl moves faster than I have ever seen him move before, sitting upright and staring at his father, with me shortly behind.<br>We both watch Rick for a long, tense moment, as his breathing becomes rushed and loud with his wheezing, but then, he opens his eyes.  
>I freeze with relief, as Rick's blood shot gaze meets mine. He furrows his brow in confusion. "C-Carl?" his words is strained as it comes out. I open my mouth to speak, but my vocal chords won't work.<br>"Dad," Carl mutters from beside me, and Rick's eyes snap to his son. The relief on his expression is indescribable, but to say the least, it almost reduces me to tears.  
>Rick reaches for his son, gripping Carl's shoulders as the teenager kneels in front of his father, leaning his shaking hands on the seat of the couch to stop himself from collapsing. "Carl," Rick's raspy, struggling voice calls again, pulling Carl down to him for a shaky embrace.<br>"Are... are you okay?" Rick asks, his hands tensing on Carl's shoulders as the teary teenager pulls away.  
>Carl wipes his eyes and nods. "Yeah, Dad," he sniffs.<br>I stand up, figuring I should give the two Grimes' some time to catch up. "Oliver..." I turn around at Rick's slurred voice and I nod. "How're you feeling?"  
>"I'm okay Sir. Thank you... for patching me up and everything. I'm glad you're awake again," I say.<br>Rick nods. "Thank you for keepin' my boy safe," he says.  
>I nod. "You're welcome. He kept me safe, too," I say, glancing at Carl in thanks, before heading out of the room.<br>"I'm gonna make some breakfast," Carl says, subtly asking me to stay.  
>"I'm okay for now. I'll get some later. I'm not really hungry yet," I smile at him, as I know that he won't be very hungry either after all the pudding we ate yesterday.<br>He smirks at me. "Okay," he says, going into the kitchen to make himself and his father some food.  
>I nod after him, and then nod to Rick. He gives me a friendly salute, and I finally head upstairs to the bedroom.<p>

**Carl's POV**

I go back into the living room to my dad, carrying two bowls full of cheerios. I find him sat on the floor, leant against the couch and I go to sit next to him.  
>Dad furrows his brow as he sees the cereal. "Where'd you get more food?" he asks as I set myself down.<br>I chew my lip and glance at him. "Me and Oliver found some in the other houses around here," I tell him.  
>His jaw tenses as he takes his bowl. "You shouldn't have risked it," he scolds dubiously. "Goin' out there like that... it's dangerous."<br>I turn to look at him. "We were careful," I say. We were, to be technically honest, it was just the circumstances that became hazardous.  
>Dad nods. "It's good that you both found more food."<br>"We found even more" I glance at him, raising my brow, before staring down at my bowl. "But... we ate it."  
>"What was it?"<br>A smile creeps across my lips and a quiet chuckle escapes them. "One hundred and twelve ounces of pudding," I gingerly glance at him. He laughs, wheezing slightly and shaking his head in jest. I let myself laugh a little, too.  
>There is a short pause. "I know," Dad states. My heart suddenly drops. <em>Fuck. About what?! Did he see me and Oliver or something? What is he talking about?!<em> I keep my sights ahead, waiting for him to enlighten me and dong well to be nonchalant. "We'll never get things back to the way they used to be."  
>I look at him and swallow my dry throat. "What?" I get out, dipping my head slightly in overwhelming relief.<br>Dad continues to stare into the cereal bowl. "I only clung to that for you... for Judith." His brow raises in regret as he fights his emotions. "Now she's... gone," he says, the last word quieter than a whisper, but it still stabs us both in the gut.  
>I look away. "An' you," Dad pauses and I meet his gaze again. "You're a Man, Carl... You an' Oliver both... You're Men," he says. "I'm sorry."<br>I stare at him, my appreciation and respect for my father threatening to suddenly burst from my chest. "You don't need to be," I tell him sincerely.

**Oliver's POV**

I didn't rest. I just grabbed that book Carl was reading yesterday and began reading it. It's 'Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn', Carol didn't finish it at The Prison. I still don't know what happened to her. I guess it doesn't matter anymore though, we don't know what happened to anyone.  
>It took a few minutes, but I eventually find the part in the book about the candle, where we left from, and I read from there, re-remembering the story up until that point as I continue reading the story.<br>But I read for less than 15 minutes or so before my head snaps up from the pages with a start, abruptly pulling me from the imaginary world that Mark Twain had temporarily created for me.  
>I stay silent, swearing that I heard knocking. <strong><em>It's in your head, Oliver, just like the rattling yesterday.<em>** _But, that wasn't in my head._ **_Oh? Oh. Oh!_**  
>I pretty much leap out of bed, glad for the pain killers and antibiotics I took when I got in here earlier. I creep downstairs, almost sure that it was in my head by now. But as I descend, I become aware of how painfully quiet everything is. My heart pounds and I instinctively worry for Carl and Rick. I left my machete in the living room, so that is my first priority, especially if the Grimes' aren't in there for some reason.<br>Silently, I edge to the door way, poking my head inside, relieved to see Carl and Rick. They are both staring at the front door, Carl; gun raise and aimed at it, and Rick; slowly edging around the couch to look through the peep hole.  
>I scope the windows with my eyes, seeing no one outside. "Psst," I try to get their attention, as they both haven't noticed I am here yet. Their heads snap around to me and Rick quickly brings his finger up to his lips to silence me, before stepping closer to the door.<br>I exchange a worried glance with Carl, tip toeing over to him and motioning for my sheath. Silently, he grabs it for me and passes it over.  
>I hold my machete in my hand, glad that it doesn't hurt as much as it could, as my wounds are beginning to heal. That's definitely a good thing, because I am afraid that I might need all the strength I have in me very soon…<br>But suddenly, as Rick stares through the peep hole, the tension in the room so thick that a walker would struggle to walk through it, he bursts out laughing. Wheezy fits of laughter push their way from his curled mouth and I am sure that he has gone completely mad. Whatever is on the other side of that door has managed it! It's finally broken him! **_Don't be stupid Oliver, he's laughing. He's not insane!_** _Why the fuck is he so happy then?!_  
>"What?!" Carl hisses, just as confused and flustered as I am.<br>Rick stumbles away from the door, clutching his middle as he rolls over onto the couch, struggling to stifle his laughter. _Jesus, are you sure he's not insane?_ **_Just… give him a minute…_** I shuffle uneasily on my feet, feeling my stomach jolt from my nerves.  
>Rick looks up to us, that familiar, crooked, Grimes' smile plastered over his bruised and cut up lips.<p>

"It's for you."

**YAAYYY! Michonne's back! Oh, spoiler alert, I guess. Oh, come on! If that's a spoler then you obviously don't watch the show. And if you don't watch the show then what are you doing here?!**

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a little comment on your way out to tell me of your thoughts :)**

**Favourite part(s)?**

**Worst part(s)?**

**Helpful criticism is truly appreciated :D**

**Preview: The next chapter will be an in between, or rather, a 'filler' kind of chapter. I think is what you call them at least. I dunno what exactly will happen, I haven't really planned it yet. I'll just see what happens to our lovely boys. Bearing in mind, that now Michonne is there, Carl will most likely be giving up his cushion bed for her, and that means he'll be sharing the bedroom with Lovely Oliver. But don't worry, I won't let them get carried away with themselves… yet. * evil laugh * :D hope you enjoy the next one, whenever it may be coming :) -_- Okay, just so you know, that wasn't suppose to be a pun… Seriously, it's wasn't! But I am deciding to leave it in there anyway, for the laughs, or whatever xx :D**

**I will post a new chapter every day :)**

**Happy reading :_)_**


	17. Chapter 17 You're Not A Coward

**Eli **THANK YOU I ADORE YOU!

This is a special chapter, hope you enjoy xx

**Oliver's POV**

I honestly believe that I have never felt so completely confused in my entire life. I stare at Rick, resisting the urge to rush over to him and shake the sanity back into him. Carl looks like he is about to do the same thing, but instead, he moves around the couch and lines his face up to the peep hole. He quickly glances over his shoulder at me, and I just stare uneasily at him, so he turns back to the peep hole and finally looks through.  
>Carl's palms suddenly slam into the wooden surface and he makes a noise, the kind of noise that comes from deep in the pit of your stomach and never has the intention to actually ever be heard. I would burst out laughing if it were any other circumstance. But suddenly, that is exactly what Carl does. He almost explodes with laughter, and I startle horrifically.<br>_This is unbearable! What the fuck is their problem?_ I am close to screaming at them both to explain themselves, but Carl begins fumbling with the cable on the door, struggling because his hands are shaking violently, but he takes care of it; untying it and then ripping it from the door knob.  
>He swings the door open and I squint as the morning light blinds me, making my head throb.<br>But then Carl leaps out of the door and I almost run after him, scared that he has run into a trap. But in the midst of my wincing, my eyes focus on who is outside and every ounce of fear or doubt I possibly possessed a moment ago completely disappears.

Michonne.

Tears just materialise, spilling from my eyes as I watch; completely overpowered by my joy as Carl clings to Michonne and she wrap her arms around him. "Y-you're here! You're alive," Carl almost whines into her dreadlocks.  
>"Yeah. I was the last time I checked," Michonne laughs, tears brimming her own eyes and looking rather surprised as well as ecstatic. It's not often that Carl shows so much affection in front of so many people, but she's not complaining.<br>Carl finally pulls away and comes back inside, allowing Michonne inside the house for the first time, both of them with permanent grins on their faces.  
>Michonne embraces Rick, mumbling something to him before pulling away and looking at the two of them. But then she sees me, cooped in the corner of the room, suppressing my sobs of overwhelming relief.<br>Carl laughs at me. _The fucker._  
>"Oliver!" Michonne breathes, rushing over to me and I realise that I have began moving to her, too.<br>I wrap my arms around her, crying like a child into her neck and burying my face into her dreadlocks. This is where I'd like to use the excuse that I still am a child, but the truth is; I am just a complete emotional mess right now. But who can blame me? We all thought everyone was dead! Having Michonne here, finally reuniting with us; it's more than I had ever expected, or ever even let myself hope for.  
>My relief and despair is just too much, so I don't let go of Michonne, not for a long time. I just mumble inaudibly at her. Talk that I don't even remember as soon as I say it - half trying to calm myself down and the other half saying ridiculous words of relief and appreciation to her.<br>Finally, I trust myself enough not to burst out crying again and I release her. She grins at me, wiping the tears that spill from her eyes. "I'm so glad you're all okay," she says, holding my shoulder.  
>My eyebrows arch. <em><strong>Don't you dare cry again, Oliver! Fucking, keep it together.<strong>_ "I-I'm so glad y-you're a-all right, t-too," I hiccup ridiculously.  
>Carl walks over to me and hugs me, rubbing circles into my back to get me to settle… but he's still laughing at me. I begin laughing, too. And soon, Rick and Michonne start. So, for a perfect moment we all laugh, and for a perfect moment we are all a family again. Granted, an odd, dysfunctional and mostly unrelated family, but regardless, we're a family all the same.<p>

~ A Few Hours Later ~

"We don't need more food. We got more than enough yesterday," Carl protests, beginning to get offended that anyone would say otherwise.  
>Michonne shakes her head and leans her elbows on the table. "There's no such thing as 'more than enough' anymore, Carl. We need everythin' we can get our hands on," Michonne corrects him, focusing on the map that Carl drew of the neighbourhood.<br>We are planning to go out on a run for a few hours - me, Carl and Michonne. Rick can't come with us, much to his dismay, because he's too weak right now. He was up for a few hours earlier, but he had to rest again because he became too tired. But when we try to wake him up to eat, he does wake up now so he's definitely getting better.  
>"What are you gonna use for a weapon though?" I ask Carl.<br>Carl furrows his brow as he thinks, leaning against the dining room table. He still hasn't got ammo for his gun. He gave his father's gun back before Rick realised he had taken it. But I know that he won't ask Rick for his gun, not after taking it before.  
>"Uh, I could use a knife from the kitchen," he answers finally. Michonne opens her mouth, and it is obvious that she is about to ask why he doesn't just used Rick's gun, but Carl interrupts her. "We don't want to attract any walkers with a shot, I'll be fine."<br>Michonne nods, letting herself get convinced with a little reluctance behind it. "All right," she says, and then turns to me. "Oliver, you sure you're gonna be okay out there? Carl told me you've been havin' a hard time healin', too," she says.  
>I nod, glancing at the small scabbing cut on her forehead where she must have been hit. My mind drifts to when The Governor kidnapped us in the woods, just before I was whacked by him, when, for a moment, I saw Michonne slumped on the floor at my feet. I didn't even have time to be afraid for her. I couldn't help her, or Hershel.<br>"Yeah," I answer, and then turn to Carl. "Someone's gotta look out for Walker Bait over here," I joke, lightly noogying him.  
>He jolts his head and playfully pushes me away. "Jerk," he mutters, scowling at me.<br>I smirk at him, and then look back at Michonne. "I'll be okay. I promise," I tell her.  
>Michonne nods in acceptance and Carl turns to her. "So, what's the game plan?" he asks.<br>Michonne takes a deep breath. "All right. You both'll take the houses on this side of Walker St." she says, pointing at the drawn road and the row of houses. I try not to smirk at the ironic name of the street, but Carl notices and he smirks too, exchanging an amused glance with me. "Hey, are you even listening?!" Michonne snaps.  
>We jump slightly and look at her. "Yeah," we both say at the same time. "Excuse us Michonne. Go on?" I add.<br>She exhales slowly, narrowing her eyes in jest before turning back to the map and pointing at the appropriate houses. "I'll take the other side... We'll work our way parallel to each other from the first houses, going this way. Alright, so you two on this side, and me on the other. And before you argue, I want you two to go together because you don't have guns. I'll be fine on my own," she says, although neither me or Carl are indifferent to spending a few hours alone together.  
>"Okay," I say, and Carl nods.<br>"If you get separated, we'll all meet up back here," Michonne says. "If you run into trouble; walkers, people, anything you're not sure of… you run, but if you're being followed, don't come back here to the house. Try to circle around and loose them, or hide out somewhere until you're sure you can come back. Alright, you got that?"  
>Carl and I nod, and Michonne smiles.<br>"Good," she says. "Right, you know what we're lookin' for?"  
>"Food. Supplies. Water. Toothpaste," I list on my fingers.<br>"And we need your antibiotics, too," Carl reminds me and I nod. Rick's wounds are healing well, so he said that I should use the antibiotics for myself.  
>"Okay. Uh, should we find more clothes?" I ask, glancing mockingly at Carl's filthy top and shirt, earning a subtle yet painful jab to my rib cage from his elbow. "Ow."<br>"Sorry," Carl says, staring at me in concern when I wince, but I shake my head and chuckle at him, before looking at Michonne for her answer to my question.  
>"I wouldn't bother," Michonne shakes her head. "There's enough here. We'll jus' focus on food, water, meds and supplies for today."<br>We nod, and I ignore the smirk of triumph from Carl. So, with as much prepared for the run as we can, we gather an empty supply bag each. I quickly make sure that I have my inhaler in my pocket, and Carl leaves his father a note on the kitchen counter explaining where we will all be. And with that, the three of us head out on our supply run.

The first two houses go by without incident. Michonne usually finishes her search a few minutes before me and Carl - despite her only being one person. But when we come out, we're never surprised to see her stood at the edge of the front yard, waiting patiently for us.  
>This house in no different. Carl and I emerge from the front door; supply bags almost full with canned goods, medication and bottled water. Everything we need, but like Michonne said, there's never enough food and water, so that's what we'll be looking for in the next few houses. I even found a scrabble set, Carl said that he doesn't know how to play, so obviously, that's my next mission. All in all, a successful run so far.<br>We spot her stood at the end of the yard; her supply bag full and now carrying another that is already a third of the way full, too, with her hip cocked a little as she rest one leg as she waits for us.  
>I nod to her and she gives us a friendly salute, before signalling us to go onto the next house along. So we do.<br>Michonne disappears into the house opposite our new one, and once Carl and I have broken the door open, -using my machete this time- we go inside.  
>As soon as we walk in though, we know that there is a walker somewhere. I close the front door, gripping my machete as Carl readies his kitchen knife. We stay quiet, Carl using that listening technique I showed him all those months ago while we explored the tombs.<br>We hear it again, a sort of shuffling coming from up stairs. Carl steps towards the staircase, oblivious to the other undead corps slumped behind the living room door. But I see the lurker before it even jumps out on him. It growls, and lunges from the living room doorway to sink its teeth into his ankle. But before it even touches him, I have plunged my machete through its rotten cranium.  
>Carl jumps back, gulping as he stares at the dead walker. "Whoa… Thanks," Carl says and then glances at me. "Uh. That was a quiet one."<br>I nod, trying my best to smile, but truthfully I want to flick his ear for being so unaware of his surroundings.**_Fuck! How has he even survived this long?!_**  
>I feel myself glaring at him and Carl sighs, impatiently rolling his eyes. "Thank you," he says sarcastically. "Now let's go."<br>I stay where I am, narrowing my eyes at him. I hate close calls, and there have been too many over the last few days, especially for him. It's infuriating! But he has no idea how terrified I always am for him. My annoyance and fear for losing my best friend builds, and flashes of Carl's blue eyes becoming glazes over and lifeless, with no trace of the boy I adore so much left inside. It's almost too much to bear. I want to tell him this, but I'm too cowardly.  
>But then, Carl slides his hand into my own. I open my eyes, not realising that they were shut, seeing him watching me with the corners of his eyes crinkled in concern. I wonder what has gotten him so worried, but I then realise that my hands are shaking.<br>"I'm sorry," he whispers, tentatively adjusting his hand to encourage our fingers to tangle together. My shaking stops and my fear for him lessens to a sufferable amount.  
>I smile at him, a small, worried smile, but a smile all the same. "It's okay. Come on," I say, pulling him to follow me upstairs. "We'll just take out whatever is up here, and then we can look for food."<br>"It's called looting," he corrects me as we climb.  
>"I know," I say quietly, rolling my eyes. "I never liked calling it that though - feel's wrong."<br>Carl sighs. "That's 'cause it _is_ wrong."  
>I stop and turn to him. I am about to say something that justifies what we have to do now to survive, but that's all it is; surviving. A man's got to eat, and this is the only way we can now. But as I open my mouth, I am cut short by the shuffling noise again. We stay silent, listening as the noise continues, along with a few growls.<br>"Does it sound… different, some how?" Carl whispers confused.  
>I furrow my brow, trying to place why the noise sounds so strange. "Yeah, it does… kind of… lighter or something," I reply quietly.<br>We get onto the landing and check different rooms in order as we go along, and when we find nothing we close the doors behind us. We get to the last room, the one that we can still hear the walker inside of, and we ready our weapons.  
>Carl takes the door handle, and then quickly pushes it open, standing back as we are expecting a walker to fall out and come after us. But my heart and stomach drop in unison, and we both freeze to the spot when we see it.<br>It's a baby.  
>It hisses and shrieks at us, crawling terribly on all fours. One of its legs has been ripped off, and it struggles to move. We should put it down, kill it. But Carl and I just stare at it in horror as it drags itself towards our feet, snapping its jaw at us. To my terror, I see that the baby has only got two teeth; it must have only just been teething when it died. <em>Oh god.<em>  
>But then Carl begins crying. He clambers away from the baby, but in his terror and despair, he falls back, landing in a sobbing heap on the floor and desperately scrambling away from the baby as it makes a beeline for him. <em>Oh, fuck.<em>  
>I hesitate. Somehow bringing myself to kill an infant walker seems too barbaric. Too inhuman. Too Monstrous. But I know that if I don't Carl won't be able to do it either. So I bury my terror and drive my machete through its tiny skull, and the child finally goes still.<br>"Oh Jeeze," I pant, swallowing to try and get my stomach to settle.  
>Carl clambers to his feet, visibly shaking all over as he wipes his tears and stares down at the dead baby. I know that he is thinking of Judith. I know that he is thinking that this is what happened to her… I think we all know that this is what really happened to her.<br>Tears continue to flow from his eyes, and he hiccups into the back of his hand as he tries to stifle them. I step closer to him and hug him and he bear hugs me back, sobbing into my shoulder. "I'm so sorry about Judy," I mutter into his neck.  
>He lets out a cry into my shoulder, shaking his head and holding me even tighter. My heart breaks for him.<br>Eventually, his crying settles and he pulls away, roughly wiping his face dry with his dirt covered sleeve. "C'mon. House's clear now. We should keep lookin'," he says, averting his eyes in unnecessary embarrassment for his breakdown.  
>I force my eyebrows not to arch in sympathy, knowing that Carl would only feel worse if I made a fuss over him. So instead, we head back downstairs and begin to search the house.<p>

We only found three cans in the kitchen, and they were all sliced mushrooms. Better than nothing I guess. We scope the whole house one more time, coming back into the kitchen to look there again, just to make sure. But we find nothing.  
>We have only been in the house for a quarter of an hour at most, so we both know that, for once, we will have finished long before Michonne. <em><strong>But there has to be something that we can find. Something that we have missed…<strong>_ I glance out of the kitchen window to the back yard, and sure enough, I see a grape bush. I gasp in awe, staring at the beautifully-more-fruit-than-foliage bush.  
>"Oh my god! Carl," I call for him as he makes his way down the hallway for the exit.<br>He rushes back into the kitchen. "What? Is it walkers?" he asks worriedly, kind of reminding me of when he rushed around the corner of The Office Block when Rick would call for him.  
>I smile. "Look," I say, motioning to the window.<p>

**Carl's POV**

My mouth falls open as my eyes fall upon the grape bush. I bob on my feet as I lean over the sink in front of the window, my excitement getting the better of me. _Oh gosh! Fresh fruit!_  
>"Come on," Oliver takes my shoulder.<br>I grin at him, and we both head to the back door together. The keys were in the drawer beside the door, so we make quick work of opening the door. We poke our head out, and upon seeing that the small, fenced yard is clear, we head over to the bush.  
>I never thought that I would appreciate the taste of fruit more than pudding, but here I am, practically drooling as I stuff grape after grape into my mouth. I had forgotten how sweet and fresh fruit tasted!<br>We eat like walkers, devouring more than we probably should, but there is plenty here. Eventually, after a few minutes, we manage to stop eating. "I'll go an' grab some containers from inside - these'll last for a day or two," I say.  
>Oliver nods, and begins harvesting the grapes, keeping them in a temporary bowl that he has created out of his top. I smile, because in using his clothing like that, he is showing the skin of his abdomen and I can see the thin line of hair just above his pelvis, a 'snail trail' I remember Glenn say once. And well, it takes more than I was expecting to look away from him… What can I say? I'm a teenager.<br>I go back into the house and find a few plastic containers inside the kitchen cupboards, and then head back outside to Oliver, laughing when I see that he has almost filled his top with the fruit. "Here," I say, handing him a container to empty the grapes in to, taking a subtle glance at his revealed skin at the last moment before he covers himself again.  
>We continue to harvest the grapes, filling both plastic containers to the brim. I allow myself to get excited about showing Dad and Michonne our haul when we return back at the house. But in my buzz, I become a little unfocused.<br>My finger catches a branch at an odd angle and I when I absentmindedly pull my hand away, the plant slices into my skin.  
>"Gah!" I gasp, shaking the painful sting from my hand.<br>"You okay?" Oliver asks worriedly.  
>I examine my finger. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just caught it on the stupid bush," I mutter, frowning at my minor injury as a few drops of blood trickle out from it.<br>"Come here, let me look," Oliver says, stepping closer to me and taking my hand. He purses his lips as he examines it, fingering around the edge of the cut to see how deep it is, but I try to pull my hand away in fear of feeling any pain.  
>"I won't hurt you. I promise," Oliver reassures me, gesturing for me to give me his hand again. I relax, gazing into his trusted orbs as I let him take my extremity back.<br>But then, he lifts my hand and places the side of my finger to his mouth. I stare at him, mesmerized as he gently closes his lips over my cut. I don't really know how to react, but I don't protest, because like Oliver said, he doesn't hurt me.  
>Then I feel him run his tongue over the laceration.<br>My breath catches and my eyes almost roll to the back of my head in unexpected pleasure, but I stop myself from reacting in such a way and watch carefully with an amazing mixture of curiosity, confusion and overwhelming attraction for Oliver.  
>He doesn't look at me, he just focuses on 'cleaning' my cut for a moment, before releasing my hand and letting me drop it by my side.<br>He meets my gaze and I just stare at him, completely hypnotised with a strange intensity that I have never felt towards Oliver before, and I suddenly crave to discover and learn more about it. "There," he says, quieter than a whisper.  
>And then, with no thought or hesitation from either of us, Oliver and I are kissing.<br>I don't know who moved first, but I don't think about that as I dart my tongue through his parted lips and entwine my fingers through his hair, exploring under his brilliant beanie hat. Oliver holds my waist, hooking his fingers through my belt loops and gently pulling me closer to him. I follow his lead, leaning into him so that our bodies are pressed together, enjoying the warmth that spreads from him and seems to soak into my skin.  
>After a long, wonderful moment, Oliver breaks our kiss, but instead of moving away, he slowly brings his lips to my ear. I dip my head slightly so that my own lips are close enough to the crook of his neck that I can feel the brilliant heat coming from it.<br>Both of us are breathing heavily in our excitement and I can feel Oliver smiling against my ear. Then, with his next words, my heart threatens to jump out of my throat and run away with itself.

"I love you."

My breath catches in his ear, paralyzed with a completely new emotion that I am unable to explain or name. I stay where I am, unable to process his words. Oliver gently pulls away and I stare at him in a daze, wondering if I'd heard him right over the blood pounding in my ears.  
>My breathing becomes shaky and irregular, and I gaze between his focused, brown orbs, unable to bring my words to my open mouth.<br>Oliver smiles softly. "You don't have to say anything," he whispers. "I just... really, needed you to know. I've been a coward for too long… Afraid of what you'd think of me. Afraid of what'll happen if I tell you the truth… I know you think I'm a coward for not putting my parents down - just like Joe Jr, and… I know that I am a coward. So I needed to tell you. I needed you to know… I love you, Carl."  
>I smile at him, feeling my eyes well up and become heavy with a sudden, unfamiliar yearning for Oliver. He said that I didn't have to say anything, so I don't. Instead, I reply physically. I lean in and crash our lips together. Oliver kisses me back, gently darting his tongue into my mouth and pulling me closer to him, causing me to gasp a little.<br>Instinctively, I move to his neck, opening my eyes to marvel at the skin that I plant my kisses on, but my eyes catch something just below his right ear. A birthmark. I smile as I rise on tip toes slightly to kiss it, hearing Oliver let out a short, breathy moan into my ear.  
>Oliver turns his head to look at me and I chuckle, feeling proud of myself for getting such a reaction from him. He grins at me, before gently cupping my cheek and pulling my face to his, and we kiss again.<br>When we part however long later, I am unable to stop myself from smiling at him. I think about what he had said to me, but my mind drifts to what he said before that, about his parents.  
>"I don't think you're a coward, Oliver," I pause, letting my smile fade. "Maybe I did a little, before. But… I understand now," I confess truthfully, painfully remembering everything that happened last night. "When my dad woke up… last night. Before you came downstairs an' helped me with him… I… I thought he'd turned," I say.<br>Oliver's expression widens in shock. "Oh, shit," he pauses and strokes my cheek with his little finger. "W-what happened?"  
>"I was gonna shoot him," I shake my head slightly. "I aimed his gun at him… but I couldn't do it either… I couldn't kill my dad," I explain. "I don't know... Maybe we're jus' both cowards," I shrug, smiling empathetically at him.<br>Oliver lets out a breathy chuckle. "Maybe," he says, but then his expression becomes serious. "But, how did you find out that he wasn't a walker?"  
>I avert my eyes, building my courage to tell Oliver the worst part. "I didn't," I pause. "I was gonna let him get me… I didn't want to fight anymore. I jus'… wanted it to be over," I admit.<br>"No," he breathes, almost as if he didn't mean to say it. Oliver's expression drops in devastation and shock and he wraps his arms around me. I let myself melt into his form, possessively holding him to me as he kisses the top of my head.  
>We stay like this for a long while. Until finally, I pull away. "We should go find Michonne," I suggest.<br>"Okay," Oliver says.  
>I take his hand and gently pull him to walk with me, and we both head back through the house with our full supply bags and plastic containers. We let go of each other just as we get to the front door, and Oliver pulls it open.<br>But suddenly, Oliver cries out in pain, doubling over as the bright sun hits him. _Oh shit!_ We'd been in the shade out in the garden, and now coming out into the sun must have been too much for him from his injuries.  
>"Oliver!" I gasp, catching him as he begins to tip over, grunting in pain and clutching his head with his hands.<br>"You okay?!" I hear Michonne from the other side of the street, she'd been waiting for us like we thought she would. I look up to her and beckon her over, and she rushes to us, sliding her katana back into its sheath.  
>Oliver tries to right himself, but he has to sit down against the wall of the porch. "Dammit. I can't," he groans, wincing as Michonne crouches down in front of him and takes his shoulder.<br>"What is it?" I ask, trying not to sound panicked for Oliver's sake.  
>"I think it's your concussion… or it could be symptoms of your infection," Michonne says, furrowing her brow in concern. "Carl, c'mon, take his other arm. Oliver, we're gonna take you back to the house."<br>"No. I'll be okay. Jus' give me a minute," he tries.  
>"No," Michonne argues. "Oliver, we shouldn't have let you come out here at all. You're not well enough. We were stupid to let you come," Michonne says, helping him stand as I take under Oliver's arm.<br>Oliver relents. He doesn't really have a choice in his condition. Michonne's right, Oliver isn't well enough. After yesterday, I should've known that.

We get back to the house, Michonne only had to take out one walker that ambled across us, but it only took one effortless swipe to slice its skull in half.  
>When we get through the back door, we are expecting Dad's rushing footsteps as he comes to greet us. "Glad you're back," he says worriedly.<br>"Did you get our note?" Michonne asks.  
>Dad nods, and then notices Oliver's weakened state. "What happened?" he asks nervously. "Was he bit?"<br>"No," I almost bark. "No, it's jus' his head."  
>Dad sighs in relief and gently pats Oliver's back. "Okay. C'mon, let's get you to rest," he tells him. "Carl? Could you get him some antibiotics an' a few pain killers, or is it too early?" he asks me, as Oliver's medication management has become pretty much all of my responsibility.<br>I think for a moment, figuring that it must be about lunch time now so it should be the right time to take his 3rd and 4th antibiotics of the day. "Yeah. I'll get a drink," I say, removing myself from under Oliver's arm and going to the kitchen.  
>I grab a bottle of water, before fishing out the medication and then heading upstairs to find the three of them in the bedroom. Oliver is sat on the bed, putting up with the small fuss that Dad is giving him as he examines the wound on his temple.<br>"I think it's just your concussion, your cut looks a lot better than the other day," Dad tells Oliver, squinting as he examines the cut.  
>Oliver purses his lips politely and then glances at me, silently begging me to help him. It's not that he doesn't appreciate Dad and Michonne's care, he just isn't one for milking an illness. Just like Patrick.<br>I breathe a chuckle. "Dad…" I cock an eyebrow as he looks at me, "I think we got it from here."  
>Dad grins. "You're right, sorry," he says, walking over to me and putting his hand on my shoulder. "You okay?" he asks, smiling comfortingly at me.<br>I nod. "Uh, yeah. Yeah I'm fine. We're fine," I answer, smiling a little. "Oh, we found some grapes. Filled two containers."  
>Dad's face lights up more than it already was. "Great."<br>Michonne walks over to me. "Grapes?" she asks with her brow raised in joy, and I nod. "Nice you two. Oh, I can't even remember what grapes taste like. Rick, c'mon, let's go get our hands on 'em."  
>"Save some for us though," Oliver warns in jest as Dad and Michonne make their way downstairs.<br>I turn to Oliver and give him the tablets and the bottle. He swallows them and then sets the bottle on the bedside table.  
>I remember something. "I'll be right back," I say suddenly, before rushing out of the bedroom and catching the befuddled look from Oliver as I leave.<br>I grab the scrabble set from the supply bag in the kitchen, snickering to myself when I see Dad and Michonne sat at the dining room table devouring some of the fruit and making friendly conversation between their mouthfuls.  
>They don't see me, so, without them realising I am down here, I head back upstairs, eager to learn how to play the game.<p>

**Oliver's POV**

Carl is a great scrabble player. We play for a few hours, glad to have something to pass the time. I probably should be resting, but there's plenty of time for that later. Instead, Carl and I just keep playing.  
>I think that Carl is running out of word ideas because I am sure that he is just making them up now.<br>"Carl… 'Ostentatiousness' isn't a word. 'Ostentatiously' is… You go 'L' and 'Y' in there anywhere? Put them on the end instead," I tell him as he adds 'NESS' onto the end of the word I had put down before.  
>"What? No way! Ostentatiousness it totally a word," he protests with a smirk, because he knows he is talking bullshit.<br>"No," I say. "No it's not. Just put a 'ly' on the end."  
>Carl rolls his eyes. "I don't have an 'L' or a 'Y' though. I'm sure it could be a word," he insists.<br>I shake my head and laugh. "No," I argue. "I'm not making up a crappy word just so you don't have to admit defeat. You're so competitive! You've lost. Admit it!" I push his shoulder with mine, and he pushes me back.  
>"It's a word." <em>He knows he's talking shit.<em>  
>"No it's not!" I laugh. "Jeeze, you're ridiculous! Look, I'll prove it."<br>Carl narrows his eyes playfully. "How?" he asks as I stand up from the floor that we were both just sprawled across.  
>"Dictionary. There's bound to be one in here somewhere," I answer, enjoying the flicker of worry on Carl's face as he knows that I'm about to prove him wrong.<br>He takes a deep breath, rolling over onto his back and bending his leg at the knee. "Fine, whatever," he says nonchalantly, staring up at the ceiling and tapping a made up tune into his chest.  
>I search on the shelves in the bedroom. But when I don't find one I go over to the bed, lifting the mattress and checking under it for anything. I do find something, but it's not a dictionary…<br>I smirk. "You know. We may not have your mom's gross Sunday pancakes… or Michonne's stale M&M's anymore…" I begin, glancing at Carl as I pull the object that I found out from between the mattress. Carl frowns at me in confusion as I walk over to him, concealing what I have found. "But we'll always have the centrefolds," I finish, grinning madly as I drop the playboy magazine on his stomach.  
>Carl looks at what it is, and when he sees the blond woman on the cover with her legs spread impossibly wide revealing her bald womanhood, he bursts out laughing. I begin laughing too, doubling over as I slump to the floor beside him, laughing so hard that after a while it hurts!<br>Carl turns to me as we manage to compose ourselves again, still grinning like a fool. We stare at each other, until Carl rolls over a little and kisses my forehead, just a quick press and release. I smile at him, and he smiles back. "I think I'm sleeping up here tonight, if that's okay with you?" he asks.  
>I nod. "Yeah," I whisper. "I'll go ask your Dad… and leave you and the centrefold together," I joke, earning an almost giddy chuckle from The Grimes.<br>I bring myself to my feet and go out of the bedroom, leaving the grinning teenager on the floor with the dirty magazine still rested on his chest. But I have a hunch that he won't really read it for various reasons.  
>I find Rick reading his book on the couch, hearing Michonne in the kitchen sorting through our food and supplies.<br>"Hey, uh, Mr Grimes?" I begin.  
>"Oliver," he looks up to me. "Everything all right up there? I'm starting to foget I even have a son."<br>"Sorry," I apologise, but Rick shakes his head and chuckles, letting me know that he is only joking. "Uh, yeah, we're great," I answer, "uh. Carl and I were just wondering… the sleeping arrangements for the night. You know, 'cause Michonne's here now."  
>Rick seems to think over what I am saying, until he nods a little and then cranes his neck to look at Michonne. "Michonne?" he says and she pokes her head through the doorway to look at us. "Where do you wanna sleep tonight?"<br>"Um. I don't mind. Are there any more bedrooms up there?" she asks me, motioning with her eyes to upstairs.  
>I nod. "Uh, yeah. One more."<br>"Okay, I'll take the couch. Rick, you can sleep up there - have a bed for once," Michonne suggests.  
>Rick shakes his head. "No." My heart drops, because truthfully I am really hoping that one of them will take the room so that I don't have to, and then Carl can bunk with me like he said he wanted to. "I'll take the couch. You need a bed more than I do. And I'll have the cushions on all of the couch now 'cause Carl can go in with Oliver," he says, and my smile returns. "That'll be okay with you right?" Rick finishes, and I try not to look as ecstatic as I feel.<br>"Yes Sir."  
>Michonne relents, and nods in defeat to the man. Neither Rick or Michonne say anything more about Carl and I sleeping upstairs together. They have no reason to, I suppose. But they don't need to anyway.<br>So with that, I say good night to both of them and head back up stairs.  
>I find Carl still lead on his back on the floor, though the centrefold has been dismissively flung across the room and is now resting under the desk, fallen open on a page that seems devoted to different 'exotic' sex positions.<br>"What did he say?" Carl asks, sitting up to talk to me.  
>"It's fine," I shrug and sit next to him with my legs crossed. "They just kind of… assumed. You know?"<br>"Oh. Okay," Carl says. He pauses, looking down at his lap for a moment and twiddling his thumbs. "Uh, Oliver?"  
>I look at him and nod. "Yeah?"<br>"W… uh… what are we now?" he asks awkwardly. _Oh._ I knew that Carl would want to talk about this eventually. I just somehow thought that he would take a little longer to figure out what he wanted to say, but I guess after telling him I love him today, it has prompted him to press a little more on the subject. I'm glad he's not afraid to confront me about it. "I mean, uh, are we, uh, boyfriends… or… or whatever?"  
>I can't help but grin at his nervousness. "Well, what do you want us to be?" I ask dubiously, chewing my lip.<br>Carl purses his lips, pausing for a moment as he decides his next words and I am afraid that the casual front that I am putting up will be foiled by the quickening thump of my heart beat.  
>Finally, he looks up to me and takes a deep breath. "Oliver, do you wanna be my boyfriend?" he asks, crinkling his nose and chewing his lip as he talks.<br>My heart pounds so fast that I am afraid that it will leap from my throat. I accidentally chuckle, my nerves overtaking me as I wasn't expecting him to be quite so blunt. The colour drains from Carl's face, irritation and embarrassment sweeping his expression.  
>I straighten my face, knowing that it is taking every ounce of Carl's will power to talk to me like this, and so I nod. "Yeah," I say quietly. "I'd like that, Carl."<br>The displeasure disappears from his expression and is replaced with a smile. A smile that spreads wider on Carl's face than I have ever seen it before and I stare in awe at his familiar facial features. For the whole time I have known Carl, he never ceases to amaze me in some way or another, and he doesn't fail now either.  
>"Good," he whispers, and then glances at my lips, slowly moving closer to me. "Since The Prison… I, uh, I didn't know… you know?.. uh, h-how you'd react," he says.<br>My smile widens as he continues to slowly edge closer to me, continuing with his words. "I w-was jus' thinkin'… well, uh, wondering really… uh… If it'd be okay to kiss you again… if… if it was appropriate," he says shyly.  
>I chuckle. I would say that his words give me butterflies, but it isn't just butterflies this time, it's a whole nature reserve! Completely mesmerized by the adorable, low voice he is using as he rambles, I nod a little.<br>"Uh, so… Is it appropriate?.. To kiss you now?" he asks quietly.  
>I nod again and let out a small chuckle. "Yeah. It's appropriate," I answer softly, with our faces so close now that there is less than a centimetre between our lips, and when he blinks I can almost feel his eyelashes brush against mine.<br>"Good," he says.  
>I tip forward, unable to wait a moment longer as I reacquaint my lips with his again. My hand rises to his cheek and I slide it around his head to tangle my fingers into that glorious mop of his, before gently pulling him closer to me as we kiss.<br>I don't know how quickly Carl wants to go with this, or even if he wants to go any further any time soon at all. He's only 14, and I know that being 10 months older than him; I am still only just a little more sexually aware than he is. Though, I was still surprised when Carl unexpectedly takes my waist and begins to push me to lie down the floor as we kiss, and then leaning down to me and propping himself on his elbows.  
>We kiss like this for a little while longer, and then I feel him balance himself on just the one arm for some reason. But then I find out why, as I feel his fingers slowly glide under my top, and run a path of light touches and grazes a little way up my abdomen.<br>I gasp into his mouth as my stomach involuntarily twitches, enjoying the new sensuality that Carl is granting me.  
>He breaks our kiss and moves his mouth to just below my ear, I think he likes the birthmark that I have there. But then, Carl sucks. Only lightly; drawing my skin into his mouth and then releasing me a moment later, but it happens to suddenly that I almost cry out. But then he does it again, and I feel his hands move down towards the hem of my jeans.<br>_**Wait. We can't do this. Not yet!**_I open my eyes, hurrying to grab his venturing extremities. "Wait… w-what're you doing?" I ask breathlessly, gently -and reluctantly- pushing him away, knowing that if he begins touching me like this then pretty soon I'm not going to be able to hide my excitement when it decides to make a more physical appearance.  
>Carl stares at me nervously, with those pupils fully blown and unconditionally beautiful. "I-I don't know," he answers, shaking his head and leaning off of me a little. "I really don't know."<br>I sit up with him and suppress my smirk. "Well, whatever you were doin'… I… I just don't know if we're ready for it… not yet anyway," I say quietly.  
>"Sorry," Carl scratches his head and smiles awkwardly. "I didn't mean to be, uh… be too…" he fumbles with the right term to use, "forward."<br>Maybe it's the completely innocent way Carl said it, or maybe it's the unbelievable amount of testosterone surging through our bodies right now, but we both burst out laughing.  
>We go back to our scrabble game for a while, kissing some more as a reward for words that aren't imaginary, until we begin to feel tired and get ready for bed.<br>I go and check the wardrobe and find a few clean pyjamas. I throw Carl a set. "What?" he questions, looking at me like I'm crazy as I begin eagerly undressing myself.  
>"I don't care if it's the end of the world, I want to be comfortable," I defend myself, pulling on the pyjama bottoms and then taking off my top. I know that he is watching me, but I pretend not to notice, enjoying how easily I can distract him to be truthful.<br>When I am done, I look at him and motion him to dress too, before rushing over to the bed and slumping into it, burying myself under the thick, warm covers. I can head him dressing, but I make an effort not to look.  
>When he finishes, he climbs into the bed and I turn to look at him, pulling the covers up for him to share. "Thanks," he smiles.<br>We lay like this for a while, and I let myself get tired. But I keep giggling, because every few moments Carl randomly buries his face into the duvet cover.  
>"Why're you doing that?" I ask groggily, yet amused by his behaviour.<br>"W-what? What am I doing?" he asks, confused as he opens his eyes and looks at me.  
>"You're kind of… burrowing," I answer,<br>Carl grins. "Sorry," he mumbles. "I jus' haven't slept in a bed in a while."  
>I furrow my brow. "What about your cot?" I ask.<br>Carl shakes his head. "That's not a real bed. Last _real_ bed I slept in was over a year ago at Hershel's Farm," he trails off, suddenly reminded of the loss of his grandfather figure.  
>I find his hand under the duvet and lean forward, kissing his forehead to comfort him. "Then make the most of it," I whisper, smiling into his fringe.<br>Carl smiles and pulls a little more of the duvet around us, before burying his face into the fabric and letting out a long sigh, and I can see that he is exhausted.  
>I close my eyes, but moments later I feel Carl's hand twitch slightly, squeezing my fingers between his. I open my eyes and see him looking at me.<br>In the gloom, I only just make out his smile. "I know that Ostentatiousness isn't a real word," he whispers.  
>I laugh and then kiss him as a reply. Carl kisses me back and squeezes my hand in his as he we lip lock. We pull away, and I enjoy Carl's soft breathing on my skin for a moment, before he leans forward and gently kisses the end of my nose.<br>I chuckle at him. "Night, Man" I whisper, stroking the back of his hand with my thumb.  
>"Night," he says, before doing that funny burrowing thing again, only this time it's into my chest. <em>Cute.<em> And with that thought, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

Notes

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	18. Chapter 18 Impulse Control

_**westerlo4**__ Thank you x I found out that it is one of the most read chapters (on thewalkingdeadfanfiction)_

_**Prettyprincess45**__ thank you! That means sooo much!_

**Oliver's POV**

I have never met a more restless sleeper than Carl. We went to sleep together last night with me against the wall, and Carl on the other side, both of is facing each other. We're still facing each other now as I open my eyes and see him asleep in front of me, but somehow, during the night we have switched places in the bed without realising it. I don't know how. I think I vaguely remember Carl just rolling over on me, and then it just went from there I guess.

I grin at him as he sleeps._ Carl Grimes, my boyfriend._ I realise that the term is completely pointless in this day and age, but I'm still ecstatic about it, and about him. I lift my hand to stroke the dirt and sweat coated hair our of his closed eyes and forehead, and then gently run my fingers down his cheek. For no reason really, just because I can now I suppose.

But then, I feel it…

_Oh, fuck!_ My eyes widen and my mouth falls open in shock. It seems that Carl is a lot more sensitive than I was under the impression of...

He's hard.

My cheeks burn and involuntarily hold my breath as I feel Carl's morning wood pressing against my leg.

I remember less than a year ago when I would get an erection if the damn wind changed! Now though, I have a little more self-control over myself, (only slightly) but it seems that Carl hasn't quite gotten that self-awareness yet. But still, I just didn't expect him to react like this when he was fast asleep. But here I am._.._

_He would be mortified if he woke up right now. __**Well, it's a good thing that you're mature enough to take it easy on him when he does wake up. **__Yeah… __**I mean, you are going to cut him some slack, right? It's not exactly his fault. **__Uh huh… __**Oliver? **__What? __**Oliver don't you dare take the piss out of him! You won't will you? **__Uh… __**You won't right? Right?! **__Okay! Okay, I won't. _

I carefully shimmy away from him slightly, so that if he were to wake up, at least his stiff member wouldn't be in contact with me. And thankfully for him, he stays asleep. _If he stays asleep for long enough, it should just go away and I can pretend it never happened. For his sake._

But a few minutes later, Carl begins to stir, almost as if he can sense my silent hysteria. He opens his eyes and rubs the sleep from them before glancing at me and smiling, the lump in the blankets still clearly visible on his pelvis.

"Mornin'," he mumbles in his groggy morning voice, oblivious.

"Morning," I reply, chewing my lip nervously. _Should I tell him? __**Well, would you want him to tell you? **__Uh, yeah. I think so._

Carl notices my nervous expression and burning cheeks, and his eyebrows furrow. "What's wrong? You okay?" he asks, waking up more and leaning over to me slightly.

I shake my head. "Nothing… uh." I can't think of how to put this.

Carl looks puzzled. "What is it?"

I glance down at him briefly, but he doesn't take the hint. _Dammit. _I want him to know that I am not ridiculing him for it though, so I quickly lean forward and kiss him. Then I realise that this probably wasn't the most practical thing to do to him right now as, without thinking about it, I dart my tongue through his lips a little and my hand find his forearm. _**Oliver… Remember what you were doing. **__Oh. Uh, Right._

I pull away. "Uh, Carl…" I pause, biting my lip nervously as he waits for me to finish my sentence. "Uh, y-you're… You've got..."

But that is all I have to say, because Carl finally notices. His cheeks almost shine crimson and he sits bolt upright, scrunching up his legs to hide himself. "I…" he cringes, and it is bad enough that it forces his mouth to close on itself mid sentence. "I am so sorry."

I know I promised myself that I wouldn't joke about this, and I try not to. I really try. But a smirk manages to break across my lips and an "I'm flattered," forces its snarky way out of my mouth. _**Dammit, Oliver! You have zero impulse control and it is disgusting!**_

Carl glares at me. "No! N-no it's not…" he tries. "Oh! Shut up! Don't take it so fucking personally. They jus'... happen… all the time."

My face grimaces as I try to stop my smirking. "Sorry," I apologise. But obviously, Carl is not comforted or consoled. "Carl. It's no big deal." _Well, actually. It's a lot bigger than I expe- __**Oliver! **__What?_ _It is. __**OLIVER! **__Jeeze, okay! Okay!_

Pushing the thought to the back of my mind, I dip my head to catch his eyes again as they have now dropped shamefully to the floor beside the bed. Finally he looks back to me, still cringing in embarrassment.

"Carl. It's no fuss. I get them all the time, too. It's just what comes with being a guy," I say casually. But then, at the same time, Carl and I realise the accidental innuendo I just used and we both begin laughing. _**Oh jeeze! You're as bad as each other!**_

When we finally settle, Carl still looks mortified. "Look, I'll tell you the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me if it'll make you feel better?" I offer.

Carl nods. "Probably won't make me feel better though," he says pessimistically, wrapping his arms tighter around his folded knees.

I suppress my grin and instead roll my eyes. "When I was in 6th grade," I begin. "We put on a play at school. It was _'Romeo and Juliet'_. I was supposed to just be an Extra, but the kid who played Romeo got sick and I was his undercover. Penelope was Juliet."

Carl nods as he remembers my old best friend I told him I shared my first kiss with. "Wait. You had your first kiss in a school play?" he asks, smiling slightly as he makes his guess and I can tell that he is glad for my change of subject.

I shake my head. "No," I say. "Well, almost... but, no. This is what happened; I was ready for the scenes and everything, because in rehearsal, the kissing scenes were just hugging or pecks on the cheek. But Penelope, she told me that she was going to kiss me on the lips on the night of the play, 'production value' she kept saying… I was so scared, terrified. And I told her I didn't think I could do it... But she said that it was okay, because we were best friends so it would be easy. So anyway, we were doing the play, and I was getting more and more terrified as it got closer to the kissing scene… I said my lines, played the part and was about to kiss Penelope… but then… I yacked… everywhere... Literally everywhere; on the stage, over my costume… on Penelope… It was _so_ awful."

Carl grimaces and laughs for a moment. "Oh god… What did Penelope do?" he asks.

"Nothing," I shrug. "She didn't get mad, or scream at me, or throw a tantrum like I thought she would… She just hugged me and took me to the nurse's office. And when everyone else laughed and made fun of me, she stuck up for me and told them all to grow up."

Carl smiles. "She sounded like a great friend."

"She was," I nod. "But I was still devastated. So she stayed with me in the nurse's office. And when we had gotten cleaned up and everything, she came back to my house for a sleep over. Mom, Dad and Patrick were all still trying to stop laughing at me on the drive home. But Penelope held my hand, and didn't laugh... That night was our first kiss. We were in my room watching _Shrek,_ and Patrick had just left to go to bed. Penelope just turned to me and pulled me to sit up and look at her. She told me I was 'really brave' after what happened and that I deserved a 'congratulatory endowment'." At the time, Penelope was going through a faze of always using unnecessarily large words for some reason. "And then she just kissed me," I finish, smiling at the memory.

"_Shrek? _How romantic," Carl chuckles.

I giggle a little and nod sarcastically. "Yep. I told you it just kinda happened," I grin. But I straighten my face when I see that Carl is still trying to subtly hide himself. So I grab the pillow beside me and hand it to him. "Here… and I won't laugh. I promise," I say truthfully, suddenly appreciating Penelope's efforts a lot more now that I am in a similar position as she was that evening.

Carl smirks embarrassedly as he places the pillow over his lap and sits next to me against the wall. "Thanks."

I point to his hand. "How's your finger?"

"Oh, yeah. Forgot about that," he says as he raises his hand and examines his cut. I see that it's scabbing, and looks like nothing to worry about. I smile a little, thinking about how I 'cleaned' it yesterday, and remembering the bitter iron-y taste of Carl's blood on my tongue. I wasn't expecting his reaction. I don't think that he was either. Actually, I don't think he was expecting any of it at all.

At first, I only did it because Penelope once did the same thing to me. I had cut my palm when we were making a salad for her family. I was slicing a cucumber and the end of the blade just nicked the side of my palm. But when she did it, it didn't feel like when I did it to Carl. There was no romance or excitement or curiosity; it was just an innocent gesture between friends.

Carl begins to scratch at the scab. "Don't pick it. You'll make it bleed again," I say, taking his hand and pulling it away from him.

Carl smirks, avoiding my eyes and I kind of get the feeling that he isn't too fussed about his finger bleeding again, as long as it means that I will 'clean' it again.

I snort a laugh, absent-mindedly bobbing his hand in mine. I glance at him. "Licking and sucking… we've found your fetish then," I mutter.

Carl's cheeks were going back to their normal colour before, but his cheeks turn back to that brilliant dark crimson colour. He lets out a laugh of guilty shock. "Shut up. As long as you've still got a few books for you," he finally retorts defensively.

"I don't have a damn book fetish," I chuckle, though I do notice that Carl didn't deny my previous comment.

Carl takes his hand back and laughs into it to hide his burning cheeks, but then I spot the large bruise on the outside of his forearm and wrist, poking out of his sleeve. "How'd this happen?" I ask as I carefully pull his sleeve down to show the whole bruise.

He looks confused so pulls his arm around to look. "Oh… oh, it must've been when I was, uh, hitting the wall… when we got here," he mutters regretfully.

I purse my lips into a subtly sympathetic smile. "Right… yeah, your dad wasn't too happy about that, huh?" I say.

"Hmm," Carl sighs, looking a little distant. "I jus'… I jus' get so angry at him sometimes. You know?"

I nod, admittedly slightly dismissively, because I'm more focused on how sore and blue the bruise looks as I run my thumb over the contusion. But the corners of Carl's eyes crinkle in thought and I tilt my head as I look at him, getting a little concerned, silently asking him to tell me what's bothering him.

He purses his lips. "I jus' get… _so…_ angry, Oliver. At everything… I get so mad I think I'll-" he stops himself and glares down at his hands, reconstructing his sentence before looking at me again. "I don't know... I just hate how mad I get. And I know I'm not supposed to be angry, but I always am," he pauses and his brow arches a little as he holds my gaze. "Does... does that make me a bad person?"

I stare at him, feeling my head shake automatically. "You're not a bad person, Carl," I say truthfully, unintentionally frowning at him. "Your just _you_. This world's gotten pretty shitty lately, and it's put us through worse things than anyone could have imagined before… we've all done bad things... Awful things… But… I'm still me. I'm still, Oliver. And you're still you, Carl."

Maybe he would have said "You're right" or "Thank you" or "That means a lot to me" or maybe even "You're so full of shit, Oliver"... But like I said; Carl has never been one for verbal responses. Instead, he leans over and crashes our lips together. I think I like this reply better than a verbal one anyway.

My hand finds his wrist and I clasp it, running my thumb over the delicate skin and feeling his brilliant veins pulsate against my fingers. My hand raises as his does, and he takes my cheek in his palm, pulling my face to him and stroking it with his thumb as we kiss, entwining our tongues together like a dance. When I release his wrist, Carl grazes his hand down my cheek to my neck, before finding purchase on my shoulder.

He breaks the kiss. "Oliver?" he says quietly.

"Uh huh," I mumble, doing my best not to think about the hard member that Carl is still hiding under that pillow, and almost feeling jealous of it. But I push that from my mind and focus on Carl's answer.

"I'm gonna tell him. I'm gonna tell Dad… 'bout us."

My eyes widen. "Really?" I ask, feeling the hairs on my neck suddenly stand on end.

"Yeah. I jus'," Carl pauses as he thinks. "I jus' don't wanna lie to him, or hide it. Are you alright with that?"

"Yeah," I say without hesitation, smiling madly at him. "Yeah, I'm more than all right with that. W-when are you gonna tell him?"

Carl smirks. "Well, not right now. Obviously," he says, glancing at his lap. _Oh, yeah. __**Of course**__. I suppose coming out to your father is best done when you don't have a raging hard on, huh?__** Yeah, maybe it would come across as a little inappropriate.**_

I almost snort a laugh, but I cut myself short as I remember the promise I made him. "Right," I agree nonchalantly, and Carl does well to hide his embarrassment.

"But I will tell him. I don't know how he'll react, but I will tell him," he insists, sweetly determined, although I can tell that he is still nervous. I would be too… actually, I am completely terrified now that I think about it. If Rick doesn't accept me and Carl, it'll be me that he'll be angry at, because he'll blame me. But I am more scared for Carl. If Rick can't accept us, then he'll be rejecting his own son, his own blood… _**But Oliver... that won't happen. Rick could never do that to Carl. You know that.**_

"It'll be fine," I continue my thoughts out loud. "You're Dad's a good man. And after everything that we've all been through, it's impossible that he wouldn't accept you. He loves you more than anything, Carl. This..," I motion to the both of us, "_Us_, won't change that."

Carl looks relieved and also kind of flattered I notice, but I know that his relentless ego won't allow him to show it, so instead he lets out a chuckle and places his hand over my face, playfully pushing me away. "You big sap," he jokes.

I scoff into his palm as I shove it out of my face. "Fuck you, Man," I grunt. Then without thinking about it, I lean forward and brush my lips against his.

Carl grins against my mouth. "We're not ready for that stuff, remember?" he mocks, knowing full well that having sex with him isn't what I meant but that at all.

"Shut up you dirt brain," I mutter against his lips, and he giggles.

Carl moves forward slightly, grazing our lips again. We're not actually kissing, properly. I don't know what this is; it's more like imitating butterfly wings lightly fluttering against each other or something, as our lips are just barely touching. But it's playful, and I think I'm teasing him, or he's teasing me. I can't tell, but I know that I like it.

In spite of myself, and rendered unable to wait any longer as his lips skim and brush mine again, I lean forward that little bit more and greet him, burying my own lower lip between both of his and he gladly caresses me in his mouth.

That proves it; I'm dependant on Carl's lips - on his kisses. I'm addicted!

When we pull away, I know that I have only made it more difficult for Carl to calm himself. Quite frankly, I am just relieved that I am not in the same state as he is right now... because I'm hungry, and I want breakfast.

"I'm gonna get some food. Do you want me to bring some up?" I ask him.

Carl shakes his head. "I'll be down in a minute," he says.

We both smirk at that. _Another innuendo? Really, Carl?_ _**Oh! You're both terrible! **_I pat his leg, stifling my chuckling. "Alright, Man. I'm gonna get changed."

I climb off of the bed and dress myself. I know that Carl is watching me again, but the way I figure it; if he's gonna have to stay up here for a little while until he calms down anyway, seeing me half naked won't make much difference, and plus, I don't hear him complaining.

"See you, Man," I smile at him as I leave out of the bedroom and head downstairs.

I find Rick in the living room reading his book. "Mornin'," he says, looking from his book to me and smiling, and I am relieved to notice that his bruising is improving, still awful, but better than yesterday.

"Morning, Mr Grimes. How'd you sleep?" I ask politely.

"Good," Rick nods. "I could hear you both laughing until pretty late," he adds.

I almost trip over my feet, but manage to catch myself and stare at him, unable to tell if he is mad at me or just saying it factually. "Oh... s-sorry," I resist the urge to avert my eyes and keep looking at him, faking my nonchalant smile.

Rick smiles and shakes his head. "No, it's fine, Oliver," he chuckles, wheezing slightly, but I pretend not to notice as he composes his breath again. "It was good to hear you both laughing again. Almost forgot what it sounded like," he kind of mumbles, trailing off slightly.

I purse my lips. I think the last time Rick saw either me or Carl laugh was yesterday when Michonne arrived, but we were also crying, so I don't think that counts.

"Me too," I say modestly.

Rick nods and seems to watch me for a moment, and I can't decide whether to leave or if he wants to keep talking. He looks confused, or rather, curious. My heart quickens and I try to act nonchalant as I nod back to him. But then he opens his mouth to talk. 'Are you and Carl together?' I am terrified he will ask, or 'Are you in love with my son?' But he is cut short before his sentence leaves his cracked and cut lips.

"Oliver?!"

I spin around at Michonne's voice from down the corridor. "Michonne? Everything okay?" I call, rushing from the living room to search for her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she assures me. Rick was about to follow me out of the living room to help his friend, who sounded like she was in more trouble than she really was. But he relaxes and sits down on the couch again and after a moment of head shaking and chuckling in jest, he resumes his book. "I was wondering if you could do me a favour?" Michonne asks me.

I follow Michonne's voice to the utility room door, which is shut. "Sure. What do you need?" I ask, leaning close to the door to hear her.

"I had to change my top. I'd been wearing it for... however long it's been now, an' I also kinda got grape over it. So I figured I could use another shirt. Could you go an' find me somethin'?" she asks.

I have a hunch that Michonne has already undressed herself, only to realise that she had forgotten to get another top to put on. So has been stuck in the utility room for a while waiting for me to get her something to wear. The uncharacteristically clumsiness of Michonne makes me laugh, but I hold my tongue of any sarcastic comments, and instead I answer her.

"Uh, yeah. No problem. Anything in particular?" I ask.

"Nah, jus' something comfy and practical I guess," she replies.

My brow raises in hesitation. "Okay," I say doubtfully. "But I'm no fashion expert, just so you know."

Michonne chuckles. "Doesn't matter. Anything'll do, Oliver," she says reassuringly, and I can almost hear that familiar, bright smile of hers, beaming at me through the door, and the thought puts a wider smile on my own face.

"All right," I say.

And with that, I begin my search.

**Carl's POV**

I found a tennis ball under the bed. So to pass the time I lay back on the bed and throw it above my face. I count each throw. 22, 23, 24, 25… it's a good distraction, and it worked, evident from the lack of tightness in my jeans again.

I cringe as I try not to think about Oliver catching me so undignified and I can feel my cheeks heat up in embarrassment, so I throw the tennis ball half a dozen or so more times.

I know that we said that we're not ready to take things further yet. I'm not even sure I know how to. I've been given the talk by Dad, back at The Prison, but he didn't tell me about same gender sex or any of that stuff, I guess he didn't think he would need to. But I can't help but think about it anyway… a lot.

My hormone raged mind drifts, imagining touching Oliver... feeling him as his goose bumps erupt over his skin under my fingers, and him doing the same to me… But I get out of the bed and shake my head clear, knowing that just by thinking about things like that will make me excited again.

I roll my eyes at my own ridiculousness, tossing the tennis ball to the floor with a loud, hollow, bump, and catching it again as it throws itself back into my palm.

I keep tossing the ball as I make my way to the door, and reach out for the handle, throwing again. But the door swings open, catching me off guard and I miss the ball as it hits the floor again and bounces across the room.

It's Oliver.

I grunt a little in annoyance and chase the ball as it rolls away from the door. "You made me drop it," I grumble, crouching to grab it from under the dresser.

Oliver smirks at me. "I didn't know what the hell it was... It's _really_ annoying," he says, referring to the banging.

I roll my eyes as I go back over to him, purposely throwing the ball on the floor again and catching it. I roll it in my hands and glance at Oliver. "Too bad," I whisper cockily.

Oliver scoffs. "Whatever," he mutters, before stepping closer to me and leaning in to kiss me. He runs his tongue over my lower lip and I open my mouth slightly to let him in, only, it's a distraction, because with one tug to my hand as we kiss, the tennis ball is gone from my grasp.

I pull away and glare at him. "Hey! Give it back," I bark, grabbing at his thieving hand, but he laughs and pulls it away, holding it above my head. I almost jump for it, and I poise myself to do so, but I stop. I'm not about to fight for a stupid ball, so I right myself again and glare at him, crossing my arms and letting out a sigh of irritation.

Oliver draws his lips into his mouth to suppress his smirk. He tosses it to the floor and catches it, still stood comfortably close to me, but I don't change my expression. Then he tosses it up, high, and I think that he will catch it again, but the ball as it comes towards me. I rush and fumble to catch it, almost dropping it again but I manage, narrowing my eyes at him when I do.

"Thanks," I say sarcastically. Oliver grins, but something white catches my eye and I only just noticed the shirt in his hands. "What's that for?"

It takes Oliver a moment to realise what I am talking about, but his eyebrows suddenly fly up when he does. "Oh crap!" he gasps. "She's still stuck in the utility room!"

It all happens so fast. Oliver hurtles down the staircase and I'm left, completely confused, standing there on the landing with the tennis ball clasped in my palm, staring after the frantic teenager. _What the hell?!_

I follow him, dropping the tennis ball on the staircase and beginning to worry that somehow Michonne has managed to lock herself in the utility room or something, but by Oliver's tone, I can't think it is too serious.

I soon realise that it's not.

I reach the bottom of the stairs, glancing down the hallway to see Oliver passing the shirt through a gap in the utility door. "Thanks, took you long enough," Michonne says with a light hearted chuckle.

A guilty smirk spreads across my lips, because it was me that was keeping him. I look away before I blush. But my gaze goes straight to my father, who is watching me from the couch with his brow furrowed slightly.

I startle, and straighten my face immediately as a choking sound escapes me in my shock. "M-mornin', Dad," I get out, playing the cough out into my words.

He cocks his brow, only for a moment, before dismissing his thoughts and smiling a little. "Mornin'. Sleep well?" he asks, resting his book on the floor and sitting up on the couch a little more.

I nod in silent response, and step into the living room, stuffing my hands into my pockets with my thumbs sticking out. I look him over for a moment. "You look better," I point out.

"Thanks," Dad nods. "I feel better."

I am relieved. I really am, but I don't tell him that. I just nod and head into the kitchen. Oliver is already in here making us some breakfast. I suppress my smile and stand beside him, pulling open a drawer and taking out some spoons for us and setting them in the two bowls that he has filled with cheerios.

He grabs his bowl and the cereal packet and glances at me, smiling and motioning for us to go eat in the dining room. I take my bowl and we both go and sit at the table.

I never liked cheerios much, but the sweetness is almost addictive to me right now and I struggle to pace myself as I eat, and I can see that Oliver is having the same trouble. Just like with the pudding and the grapes. I guess the apocalypse isn't exactly the best environment to learn table manners.

During our meal Michonne comes in with her own bowl, wearing the shirt that Oliver got her. I begin chuckling though, because the new clothing is too big for her, bagging off of her shoulders and torso, kind of reminding me of how Mom used to wear Dad's oversized shirts as night gowns.

Michonne narrows her eyes at me and I grin at her, stifling my laughter. "Do you have something to say about my extremely comfortable and attractive shirt?" she says in jest, folding her sleeves and tying a knot at the back to tighten it a little.

"N-no, no, no," I reply, still sneering at her as Oliver does well to keep his face almost relaxed, but I can see the laugh fighting its way to his surface, "uh, it looks great," I say coolly.

Michonne grins at Oliver, who looks a little guilty for finding the wrong size for her. "Well, I love it," she says kindly, moving to the seat beside me.

Oliver chuckles. "Thanks. I, uh, put your other shirt in the living room to dry," he mutters modestly, and Michonne thanks him with a nod.

I grin at them both. But I catch a glimpse of the brown skin on Michonne's abdomen, revealed from an undone button. "Oh, uh. You missed a-" I point to the skipped button and she smiles in thanks, before doing it up and taking the seat next to me.

We continue our meal, until Michonne stops eating and prods at the food a little. "Wish we had some soy milk," she mutters disappointedly.

I grimace. "Seriously?"

Oliver glances at me with his brow raised and Michonne cocks an eyebrow. "Yes, seriously!" she argues. "Have you ever tried it?"

I hesitate, as Oliver tilts his head and purses his lips in intrigue, and Michonne waits impatiently for me to answer. So I do. "M-my best friend in third grade; he was allergic to dairy," I start, purposely beating around the bush.

"Uh huh," Michonne urges, raising her brow and Oliver laughs a little through his nose. Maybe me telling a story like this reminds him of story time, because he lets himself relax, resting his head on the table surface and watching me as I continue my story.

"An' every day he'd bring this soy stuff to lunch," I say, and lean forward a little as I finish, "I tried it."

Michonne grins wider and briefly closes her eyes as she says her next word. "And?"  
>"I threw up!" I chuckle.<p>

Oliver laughs, causing his cheek to rub against the table as his body shakes from his laughter.

"Oh!" Michonne rolls her head back in exhaustion, before grinning at me again and raising her brow expectantly. "Yeah right!"

"Alright, alright. I... I almost threw up, but I was like..." I act like I am gagging and retching, earning a laugh from both Michonne and Oliver. I stop my re-enactment, grinning at them as they compose themselves again. "You guys're so gross. I mean literally, I would rather have powdered milk, than to have that stuff again. I would rather have Judith's formu-"

The it all rushes back to me. It's funny that, how you start to forget about the bad stuff. Or block it out rather. For a moment there, I was on autopilot, neither thinking that my sister was alive or dead. I just forgot. Not now though. It all comes back to me, smacking me across the face worse than I ever expected it to. Judith is dead, torn apart by walkers and bullets. Gone. Like everyone else. Forced to the ground under tank tracks and dead corpses and empty shot gun shells.

I can feel my face about to crumple up and stream with tears, so I struggle to keep it relaxed as my despair eats away at me. I shove my chair out from under me. "Oh my god, I left me book- forgot how many chapters're left-" I mutter, doubting that they can hear me, but if I talk any louder I'm afraid I will scream. I turn, hurrying out of the dining room and skipping every other step as I quickly climb the staircase.

The tears spill from my eyes just as I get through the bedroom door. I crumple to a heap on the floor, not even making it to the bed as I break apart. I wrap my arms around my heaving middle as silent sobs force their way from my lungs, shaking my whole body as I try my hardest to stop them, but it's too much. I have held them in for too long, and they just wont stop.

That's when I hear someone walking up the stairs. I know that it is Oliver, I can recognise his precise footsteps as they neatly place themselves across the carpet, hardly making a sound at all. I know that he could completely silence them if he wanted. But I also know know that he isn't trying to sneak up on me, so he is making the small noise to let me know that he is there, letting me have the option to tell him to go away if I don't want to talk to him. But I do want to talk to him, only him, so I don't tell him to go away, and Oliver comes into the bedroom.

I pick myself up from the floor and sit back on the bed, forcing my chin not to shake as Oliver shuts the door behind him and makes his way over to me, setting himself down on the bed, carefully, as if he is trying not to scare me away.

He takes my hand, and I use my free one to quickly wipe a few tears that fall from my eyes. For a long while, we don't say anything. There's nothing to say. But Oliver knows that just him being here is enough right now.

"Tell me more about your third grade best friend?" he says finally.

I furrow my brow, confused by his chosen subject, but I then realise that I am just grateful for it. "His name was Tyler. He had, the reddest hair I had ever seen, and freckles that you could play dot to dot with," I say. Oliver gives me a playfully scolding 'that's not a very nice thing to say' look, and I raise my brow as I continue. "Mm, everyone bullied him for it. But not me. I used to stick up for him, told 'em to bug off, and they'd pick on me for it, too, but I didn't care."

Oliver smiles. "Like Penelope," he says.

I nod and smile softly. "I guess... Tyler used to always tell the bullies to bite him... but I suppose they kinda did in the end."

There is a short pause, that seems to hang in the air after such a dark comment. "That's not funny," Oliver whispers, quiet and more careful that I am used to. I straighten my face and glance back at him, seeing him watching me in concern.

"I know," I mutter. "Doesn't it... Don't you... I jus'... I feel so wrong, smiling... when everyone else is gone... when they're all dead," I say to him, choosing one small problem out of the thousand that are whirring through my mind at the moment.  
>Oliver pauses before replying. "I'd still want you to smile," he says.<p>

I frown at him. "What?" I ask, confused.

Oliver purses his lips and gently squeezes my hand in his. "If I died," he says. "I'd still want you to smile. I'd still wanna know that you'd be okay."

My eyebrows arch and another tear suddenly spills from my eye, so I wipe it quickly and move my brow into a frown again. "You're not gonna die, Oliver," I kind of grumble, but my voice hitches as my emotions try to fight their way out of me. But I don't let them.

Oliver rests his head on my shoulder. "I'd still want you to smile," he mutters again.

I close my eyes, afraid that more tears will come as my appreciation for Oliver almost seems to erupt from my chest. I rest my head on the top of his, feeling comforted by his hair under my cheek.

I want to show him how grateful I am of him. I want Oliver to know how much I care about him. How much I love him. Only, the last person I said that to was Mom as she was dying. I don't know if I can say it again after so long. Like I'll jinx it and something bad will happen to Oliver, too. As if I'm cursed... I know it's dumb, but the fear eats away at me, constantly.

"Where's your beanie hat?" I ask instead, finding this subject much easier.

_It's me that is the coward, not Oliver._

Oliver lifts his head and looks around the room. "I dunno," he mutters. "I left it in here somewhere. Think I was wearing it when I fell asleep."

I nod. "Yeah, I think you were."

Oliver climbs off of the bed and searches under it, but I spot the hat poking out of the duvet that he just go off of. "It's here," I announce, grabbing it.

He smiles and steps back over to the bed, reaching over to me and kneeling with one leg on the bed as he does. But I keep the hat close to my chest, stubbornly not handing it over to him, so he leans further.

But I suddenly think of a way to express how much I appreciate him.

**Oliver's POV**

"Come on, Carl. Hand it over," I grin.

Of course he doesn't. Instead though, he bites his lip, almost nervously, and then leans forward to meet my lips. And well, who am I to say no?

We kiss again.

Carl gently sucks at my lip, and in response, I draw Carl's lower lip into my mouth and then decide to bite it, only gently, so that I don't hurt him. I don't know why, I just do it without much thought. But then Carl lets out a whine into my mouth, shocking even me as I worry that I really did hurt him. I almost pull away to apologise, but he suddenly wraps his arms around my neck and pulls me down to him, kissing me harder, more desperately, more yearningly, and I revel in his lips as he runs his tongue over my upper, and I allow him entry into my mouth.

_**Oliver... cool it. If you keep on like this, it wont just be Carl who has to stay up here again to calm down. **__What if we want to stay up here though? __**Wait, really?..**_ _**I... I mean, no… no you can't. Stop now before you both aren't able to. **__What if we already aren't able to stop? _I don't answer myself, because, without realising it, I am leaning over Carl now, almost led on top of him, held up only by my outstretched arms either side of his flexing shoulders. Any inner conversation is difficult to keep up when you're in a situation like this.

Carl palms my back, one hand on each side of my rib cage, pawing at my shirt, pulling me closer. So I let myself rest into him, feeling his body against mine, his quickening breathing, his pounding heart, his lips against mine.

I instinctively take his waist and hold it to me, suddenly becoming aware of his -already- semi-hard member pressing against my side. _Gosh, he really is __**a lot **__more sensitive than I thought..._ His back arches slightly and I instinctively pull him closer as his legs drape beside me, feeling his breathing hitch as our chests press together.

He makes a low noise, almost like a growl, or a groan, or maybe a mixture of the two; accidentally I think, because he pulls away and blushes a little.

He doesn't say anything, so I stare at him for a moment, biting my lip as I examine him, trying to search for an answer to what it is that he wants so badly from me. But then Carl rolls over, pushing me onto my back as he rests on top of me. I almost let him fall between my legs, but I stop myself and he allows them to dangle by his left side. _**Impulse control. Oliver. Impulse control. **_

I compose my thoughts, which proves almost impossible as Carl runs his fingers through my hair with one hand and pulls my waist to him with the other, tangling his lips with mine... but I manage, and I reluctantly break our kiss, exchanging our hurried and irregular breaths as we stare at each other. His blue, blue eyes… Those infinitely beautiful eyes that have the power to melt everything inside of me and burn it in the fire raging in my soul.

The words form in my throat, about to tell him to calm down a little, that we shouldn't get too carried away too quickly.

But then Carl runs his hand up my abdomen and palms my stomach, leaning down and planting short, neat kisses on my jawline. My mouth falls open, drowning away any words that were forming as I draw in a sharp breath, gasping in an attempt not to moan. He suddenly slides his hands around me to my lower back and pulls me to him, nestling at my skin and I gasp again, loosing myself into our kiss and I can feel myself beginning to restrain against my jeans. _Oh, jeeze. Impulse control. __**Yes, impulse control, Oliver... use it.**_

But Carl feels me too and he pulls away slightly to look at me, looking almost proud of himself. I stare at him, panting like a damn dog! _Carl will be the death of me! __**Then ask him to stop. **__But... I don't want him to stop. _

Those damn butterflies are back, fighting with each other inside of my stomach. I suppress a chuckle, drawing my lips into my mouth to stop them from curling into a smile, my nerves getting the better of me and feeling almost overwhelmed by the silent confliction reeling in my mind.

I glance away from him restlessly. "Carl..." I don't know what I want to say to him. That I love him? That despite that truth, we still shouldn't do this? That however much I want to, so, _so _very want to, we still should wait? I don't even know yet, but I don't get the chance anyway.

"Oliver," Carl mutters, his eyes just two big glowing black holes, and his voice harbouring a kind of tentativeness that closes my mouth without even needing to touch it. "I meant it."

I stare at him, confused by what he is talking about. "W-what?" I whisper breathlessly, although again, it is not from my asthma. Carl only stares at me, his electrifying eyes darting between both of mine, but it's as though I can read his thoughts, like his mind is residing inside of mine and is speaking without words, because my memory retraces something from all those days ago in the office blocks, when I was falling asleep and I heard Carl mutter something to me. Only I couldn't make it out at the time, but I remember what he said now. He said 'I meant it', him saying it now only bringing it all back to me. But meant _what_? What did he mean? My mind reels for the answer, and then my eyes widen as I figure it out. _Oh... _I suddenly recollect our conversation earlier that night, 'you know? Worrying about me isn't gonna make me love you anymore than I already do,' he said after I had said the same thing to him.

In the only way Carl seems to be able to right now; I think he has just told me that he does, in fact, love me, too.

But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe that's just what I want to believe. I'm over thinking it. I know I am... right?

Carl notices the doubt in my expression, so he leans down and kisses me and I can feel his fingers gently pulling at the skin on my side, begging me to get closer than we already are. "I meant it, Oliver," he whispers against my lips, before pulling away to look at me. "I do."

I stare at him in shock, feeling my eyes well up as his do too. Overwhelmed, my love for him threatens to spill from my whole being. I pull him into an embrace, wrapping my arms around him. "I love you," I whisper as he holds me tightly, gently stroking his thumb over the back of my neck.

Carl presses his lips to my nape, before pulling away and gazing at me. I wonder for a moment if Carl will actually say it to me, but I don't expect him to. _Carl has never been one for vocal responses... __**Wait... then, what will his physical response be after that?!**_

I soon find out, because Carl leans down to me and makes contact with my neck again, burying his lips into my birthmark that he has taken such a fondness to, kissing me with more passion than ever before, with more of that beautiful heat spreading to and from both of us.

My breathing quickens and I instinctively run my fingers through his hair, panting and pushing my head back against the pillow without having enough control over myself to stop my actions.

He sucks again, on the birthmark, and I bite my lip hard to stop the moan that is building in me... but then he bites. "Myuhh!" the moan finally escapes, and I have to scrunch up my face to stop it.

Carl releases me, but he doesn't stop. And I don't tell him to either. So he kisses me in the place where I can still feel the throbbing from his teeth below my ear. _Oh jeeze. _He kisses me there again and I am unable to calm my heavy, excited breathing.

But then he begins to move down, making a trail of long and wet kisses down my neck and I erupt in goosebumps as the ends of his fringe graze over my nape and over my collar bones, and then not feeling them anymore when they move over my top, as he continues so slide down against my body. _Oh my god! Is he going to-? Oh god, oh god..._

Carl pulls up the hem of my top to my chest, kissing my revealed stomach and I can't stop myself from twitching as his lips touch me. And then he lowers again to kiss my hip, and I can feel his shaky hurried breathing on my tingling skin, but despite his nerves, he is more determined than I have ever seen him before.

My heart pounds in my chest and the skin over my whole body ripples in pleasure. Then his fingers crawl into the hem of my jeans and my head rolls back into the pillow again, forcing myself not to cry out as my eyes scrunch shut, biting my lower lip, hard.

I know that we are too young for this... but I also know that this world matures you faster than imaginable now. Carl and I have both killed, brutally. So why wouldn't we be just as mentally and emotionally mature for this kind of intimacy, especially if we wanted it so much with each other? _**Oliver...**_

But I know that despite this, Carl and I are still too young. Maybe this world can mature us enough to kill before we finish puberty. But it wont mature us like this... in this way. Love and intimacy can never be rushed, no matter how much we want it. It just isn't the time, and that may be even more important now than it ever has been before.

And Carl; I know that deep down, he is only doing this because he is still hurting, he's more vulnerable than he ever has been before. After everything that has happened to us, we both are. So we need to stop, for our own sake.

I force my eyes open, as Carl begins to tug at the hem of my jeans. I take his hands. "Carl. You d-don't wanna do this. N-not now," I say, trying to catch my breath and gulping, fighting my almost overpowering urges.

Carl stares at me, breathing heavily as his brow furrows slightly. "Y-yeah, I do," he says. "Don't you?" he asks.

I stare at him, swallowing hard. "I do. I really do want to," I say, nodding slightly.

"Good," he whispers, and then slides his hands from mine and reaches for my jeans again, and I almost let him, but I force myself to take them back again, shaking my head.

"Carl. We can't," I get out, fighting against my hormones worse than I ever have had to before, knowing that if he were to say the right words to me right now I may not even be able to stop myself from letting us do this with each other.

Carl's expression arches and he almost looks hurt, his embarrassment turns his cheeks crimson and he leans up a little, averting his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispers, reminding me of our first kiss in the courtyard, in our old home.

I sigh. "Carl. I don't want you to do this because you think you owe me. Or you want to prove how much you care. I already know, Man. But we're not ready. We just lost our home, our family. And I'm so sorry for that... but having sex with me isn't gonna make you feel better," I say, surprised by how level I have kept my voice.

Carl stares at me, and I watch painfully as his brow slowly arches, he fights it as best he can, but his sadness gets the better of him. A tear forms and spills from his eyes. I envelope my arms around him, feeling tears welling in my own eyes as well, as his whole body begins to hiccup and shake as he cries into me.

"I-I miss them s-so much. I m-miss her s-s-so much, Oliver," he sobs, and I know that he is talking about his sister.

Carl becomes too heavy for me, so I crumple and let us fall back onto the bed. I rest my head on the pillow as Carl presses his face into my chest, and I hold him tightly as he continues to break apart.

Carl moves his face presses his forehead to mine, using our intimacy as comfort. But this isn't a romantic, or even a sexual intimacy, it's just a desperate need to make each other stop hurting, to cure each other the only way we know how to.

My heart breaks and I can't tell if it is my tears of his that cover my face, but I don't care, I just need him to stop breaking.

Eventually, we settle enough to loosen our grip on each other. Carl rests his head on my chest. "Oliver?" he says quietly.

"Yeah."

"What happened... when you an' Michonne an' Hershel were kidnapped?" he asks, pulling away to look at me, the tears still glistening in his beautiful orbs.

I wince unintentionally, as flashes of the horrible experience violate my mind, and for a while, I concentrate on not letting my hands shake.

I sit up and Carl does too. We face each other with our legs crossed and I swallow, composing myself before answering.

"We were burning the bodies. And He was there... watching us. We were going back to the truck. I didn't see Him, I just heard her. I heard Michonne fall. I looked, but before I could think... He was there. He was everywhere," I explain. I motion to my temple. "He hit me with his gun. And then I just woke up in the camper van. He-" I freeze as I remember what The Governor said to me. He saw us, he saw mine and Carl's first kiss. One of the most important experiences of our life, and it was spied upon by Evil itself. Violated and corrupted with his grey eye watching us. But I hesitate to tell Carl this part. I don't think he would want to hear it. I know that I wouldn't if I had the choice. To him our first kiss is still innocent and beautiful and ours only. It is to me, too, but now The Governor haunts the memory whenever I think of it.

"What is it?" Carl asks, snapping me back to the real world just as he notices me leaving it.

I look at him, about to shake my head and tell him it's nothing, but I can't lie to him. I watch him, silently wondering how he will take it. Until he grabs my knee and gently shakes it. "You can tell me. Please?"

I chew my lip. "He saw us... The Governor," his name feels repulsive on my tongue and I resist the urge to grimace.

Carl's expression drops. "W-what?" he asks, terrified for my answer and I can see the goose bumps form over his neck and forearms.

I purse my lips, feeling my shoulders hunch and head droop a little. "When I was in the camper van with Hershel and Michonne, He had to clean the wound he gave me. He said that he didn't mean to hit me so bad and that he was only trying to help me, but he did it too roughly... I got mad, made some retort, 'thanks' or something like that. And He... He looked at me, real close and it scared me, but then... He said... 'sarcastic... Oliver... you're so damn sarcastic'," I say, staring hopelessly at the distraught teenager. "Carl, he saw us." I plead, almost as if I expect him to magically make it become untrue.

But of course, Carl can't do anything at all. And he doesn't do anything either. He recoils, loosing himself in his intrusive thoughts. For a long moment I stare at him, feeling my brow wrinkle in worry. I'd think he has gone catatonic if I didn't know any better.

"Carl?" I whisper, running my thumb over the back of his hand and leaning forward slightly to look at him better.

Carl struggles to pull himself back to reality, swaying slightly as he coaxes his eyes back to me. He looks furious. He glares at me, no, through me, and his teeth clench and grind against each other and I almost flinch at the awful noise. I stare at him wide eyed, suddenly worried that he will scream at me.

I swallow. "Carl?" I whisper again, letting go of his hand, half readying myself to dodge a throw from his fist. _He wont hit me... He wont. _He doesn't respond, only glares right through me, and it's terrifying. _This is the 'angry' that Carl was telling me about... isn't it? __**I think so...**_

Unable to bare it any more and not caring if he has to lash out at me to get himself out of this almost comatose state he is stuck in, I shout at him. "CARL!" I wince as my temple throbs from the strain. "Please?!"

**Carl's POV**

I force myself not to scream as I hold my middle to hide my shaking hands. I hate The Governor! Despise Him! He ruined everything! I wish I had shot him when I had the chance! I wish that I had pulled the trigger and watched his skull explode! I would have enjoyed seeing it. I would have smiled when he slumped to the floor, as the evil which once harboured his repulsive body disappeared and deleted itself from existence. I could have saved everyone. I could have saved my sister. With one fucking bullet it could have all been over.

"I hate him," is all I growl, looking away from Oliver and glaring at the wall behind him. My anger is awful at the best of times. But this... It's never been this bad. The thoughts are awful. I don't know how much longer I can take it before I explode, before I scream at someone, before I kill someone...

"Me too," he whispers, staring at me intensely with his brow knitted into a frown of concern and worry. I swallow, feeling my body convulse as I, once again, bury my unbearable rage, scaring even me as I struggle to do so.

Oliver tries to keep his face relaxed, but he winces and has to look away to cradle his temple.

I purse my lips, trusting myself to let go of my middle and leaning forward to him a little. "Are you hurtin' again?" I ask.

Oliver nods, wincing as he does.

"Sorry," I mumble, because I know that he only hurts because he had to shout at me.

He shakes his head and opens his mouth to say something, but that hurts him too, and he has to rest his head in his hands.

"I'll get your pills," I say quietly, carefully climbing off of the bed and searching for the pills I left on the bedside table. I grab 2 antibiotics and 2 painkillers, and then hand them to him with a bottle of water.

He tosses them into his mouth and swallows. "Lie down, Oliver. Rest some more," I suggest, gently pushing his shoulders to get him to relax. He does, flattening himself along the bed and wincing again as the movement dizzies him.

I know that Oliver is getting better, but stress never quickens recuperation and I know that whatever that was a moment ago must have been pretty stressful for him, along with everything else this morning.

"I'll be fine in a minute," he states, opening the one eye that isn't flattened against the pillow.

I make myself smile at him. "Okay," I say, straightening my face again. "I'm gonna go see if we're doing anything today. Back in a minute."

I get up from the floor which I was knelt on before beside the bed, and walk over to the door. "Carl," Oliver says behind me.

I turn to look at him and nod. "Uh huh?"

"You're not a bad person. You're not a monster," he says.

I stare at him for a moment. I want to agree, I want to say 'I know' or 'Thanks' but I stay silent. Eventually I just nod and leave the bedroom without another word.

**Oliver's POV**

A few minutes later, my headache is almost completely gone again. I'm just relieved that it is only the infection still healing.

I can hear the others talking downstairs, catching muffled words like 'run' and 'not well enough' and 'we'll be fine'. I guess that we are going for another run, and again Rick isn't able to come with us again.

Carl comes back a few minutes later, carrying his empty gun in it's holster on his leg. I sit up, moving off of the bed to get ready. "N-no. Oliver you're not comin' today," he says.

I scoff and roll my eyes. "Sure I am. I'm fine now," I insist, expecting him to relent and throw me my shoes. But he doesn't, he just stares at me empathetically, chewing his lip. "I'm coming, too. I can go with you both. I can help."  
>"I know you can," he nods. "So does Michonne and Dad... But you still can't come. We all think it's best you stay here for a little while longer. Your infection's not exactly gonna get better out there, killing walkers, straining yourself."<p>

I can't help the childish disappointed look I give him, but I relax my face almost immediately. I sit back on the bed, stubbornly making an effort not to wince despite the shooting pain that conveniently decides to return to my temple at just the right moment.

"Can I at least go downstairs when you go... say goodbye to you both?" I ask.

Carl furrows his brow and smiles. "Yeah, course" he nods. "Dad is, so I don't see why not."

I nod, letting myself smile again and scratching the back of my head. "Good," I say, "when will you be leaving?"

"About now," he says, because there is no real way to say exactly when anymore even is.

"Okay," I nod. I want to stand up again, but I know that it will hurt if I do it too quickly.

Carl seems to pick up on this because he walks over to me. "Here," he says, lugging the empty supply bag over his shoulder and gently taking under my arm.

I smile at him. "Thanks," I say, a little embarrassed for my weakened state, but appreciative all the same. I stand, with Carl's help in keeping me steady as my brain throbs and bangs around inside of my skull.

"Oh, should probably cover that up," Carl mumbles. I'm confused for a moment, but he raises his hand to my ear and stokes some of my hair to cover under my ear. _Oh... he's left me a mark._

I scoff a little.

Carl purses his lips, before grabbing my hat and putting it on my head, pulling it a little to get it to cover the mark. "Thanks for that. Genius," I joke sarcastically. But I guess it's the best we've got.

We walk downstairs, Carl kindly staying under my arm the whole way.

"You good, Oliver?" Michonne asks me from down the hallway, poking her head through the door to look at me.

I nod. "Uh huh," I say, ignoring the pounding in my head and about to stand on my own, but Carl doesn't let go.

"No, it's okay," he whispers assuringly.

I glance at him, and he gives me an encouraging smile, so I relax and let him keep walking me to the back door.

When we get there, Michonne and Rick are stood waiting for us, Rick's hand on the door handle as he watches, but I can't tell if it is in weariness for my injuries or curiosity for our close behaviour.

Carl steadies us, being careful and making sure I am alright on my own before letting go properly. And even when I have stood, he keeps his hand on my back for a moment. "You got it?" he asks gently.

"Yeah," I nod, unintentionally smiling a little.

He drops his hand and looks to his father and Michonne. "Ready?" he asks casually.

"Yeah," Michonne answers.

Rick nods, glancing briefly at me and then to Carl, before motioning us to head out of the door. "How long do you think you'll be?" he asks when we are all on the back porch, Carl beside me.

Michonne shrugs and turns to him. "Fill a couple bags," she says. "Shouldn't be too long."

Rick pulls out his broken watch head and looks at it. "It's 8:15 now," he tells us, putting the watch back into his pocket. I get a strange feeling of reassurance to finally know the exact time again, something that I under-appreciated too much before.

"We'll be back before noon," Michonne promises.

Rick nods, visibly reassured by her. He turns to Carl. "You follow her lead," he tells him, pulling out his gun from its holster and presenting it to him. "D'you understand?"

Carl hesitates, and I know that he is feeling guilty for stealing the same gun yesterday. But he composes himself and takes it with a small sigh and nod in thanks and understanding.

"Hey," Rick says, dipping his head a little to get Carl to look at him. The teenager glances to his dad as he stuffs the gun into the back of his jeans, "everything okay?"

Carl sighs again and glances at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Yeah…" he says quietly, looking back to Rick. "Jus', hungry."

I know that he isn't telling the whole truth. Of course he is hungry, but we all are. But he has a lot going through his mind right now; mourning over The Prison and his friends and his sister, and worrying about telling his father about me and him, and fearing for his own humanity... It's a lot for a 14 year old to take on in the middle of the apocalypse. But, however cheesy this may sound, I am so proud of him.

"All right," Rick says tentatively, patting Carl on the shoulder as he steps away and turns around.

Carl glances at me, pursing his lips and holding my eye contact for a long moment. I can almost hear him telling me to get some rest while he is gone. I nod and silently prey for him to stay safe. Carl nods, and I am sure he knew what I was thinking... I love that... I love him.

Michonne heads down the steps and Carl follows after her, supply bag on his shoulder and his father's gun sticking awkwardly out of the back of his jeans, causing the hem of his shirt to ruffle and stick out from it. I smile a little at the teenager, subtly enjoying the view of his butt that the misplaced clothing is offering.

But I suddenly notice Rick watching me out of the corner of my eye and I look at him, drawing in a sharp breath and feeling my cheeks heat up. Rick slightly cocks his brow at me, watching me strangely for a moment and my heart pounds in my chest. _Why is he looking at me like that?! __**He thinks you have a crush on his son, Oliver...**__ But, I do. __**No, I mean, Rick thinks that you were just checking Carl out...**__ Well, I guess I was... he is my boyfriend. __**Yeah, but Rick doesn't know that yet, let alone that his son likes you, too.**_

Feeling self concious, I pull my beanie hat a little, making sure that it is still covering the mark his son gave me. "Have you eaten?" I ask, forcing the subject slightly in my desperation to make sure that Rick doesn't ask the questions that I can see on the tip of his tongue. I can't answer them, not yet. Not until Carl talks to him.

"Yeah," Rick replies, relaxing his face again, "uh, I was gonna jus' rest for a while. Get back to readin', take a look at my wounds," he continues, walking back inside the house and I follow him.

I close and lock the door behind us, as Rick goes into the living room.

"How're you healin'?" he asks me as I begin to climb the stair case.

I bend over to look at him through the railing and nod, careful not to make my head hurt again. "I'm okay. A little sore sometimes, but I'm getting better, Sir," I answer.

He smiles a little, before chuckling to himself. "You know? You can jus' call me Rick, Oliver," he says, raising his arm to gesture incredulously to me.

I purse my lips into a shy smile and nod.

"I thought it'd, you know... wear off. I thought you'd end up forgetting one day and jus' call me by my name like everyone else. I thought Patrick would, too," he says, grinning.

But I glance at the floor, frowning slightly and feeling a lump form in my throat at the mention of my brother.

"I'm sorry," Rick says sympathetically. "I didn't think."

I look at him and shake my head. "It's okay," I say, neither finishing with 'Sir' or 'Rick'. "We've all lost people."

I descend the staircase and go to the living room doorway, leaning against the frame a little. "Yes, we have," Rick agrees solemnly, he walks over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "You're a good Man, Oliver. And so was he. Brought up well with a smart head on your shoulders... I'm glad that you joined us. You were both my family. An' now, you're like a son to me."

All I can do is stare at him for a moment, overwhelmed by how grateful I am for everything Rick has done fore me since I met him, since before I met him; keeping Patrick safe, giving us a safe place, a sanctuary. Giving me somewhere to belong, somewhere to call home again. Finally, I pull myself together and move my mouth. "Th-thank you. That means... everything to me," I say truthfully.

He pats my shoulder and smiles. "I wanted to thank you. He's himself around you; Carl," he says, but I must give him a sceptical look because he insists. "No, I've seen it. He's comfortable with you. He's not even like that with Michonne... But he needs that. An' you need that, too. I told Michonne earlier; I can't be his father and his best friend. He needs you, both of you. And I can see that you need them, too. It means a lot to me that you have been so good to us, an' to my boy."

I can feel my eyes begin to well, so I look away and clear my throat a little. "Thank you, Rick," I say, daring to look at him again.

He pats my shoulder once more, before dropping his hand and nodding. I nod to him, and watch as he walks past me and makes his way upstairs.

I stay in the living room for a long while, occasionally having to wipe another tear that falls from my eyes. My father was a shrink, or a psychiatrist, or doctor... well, something like that at least. I don't really know for sure because I hardly ever saw him and whenever he would explain he would use such strange terms that I eventually just stopped caring. He had to travel a lot for his work, and the few occasions when he was home, Patrick and I hardly spoke to him, we just never knew him well enough and so never tried. I never thought it was particularly important to stay close to my father, I kind of always thought that we'd just hang out another time. But that never happened.

And over the last few months, Rick has become my father figure just as much as I have become like a second son to him. And I am so grateful for that. So grateful that I truly believe that I would give up my life for these people. Because that's what you do for family.

I pull myself off of the door frame and go upstairs. I am about to go and change my bandages in the bathroom, but I can hear Rick in there, so I head into the bedroom instead.

I smile at the ceiling ornament, remembering Carl's frustrated expression when he had to wear odd shoes instead. I glance around, seeing a poster of a band that I vaguely recognise.

But then, I see the ukulele.

I grin at it's smooth, light surface, remembering when Carl and I found the music room back when we explored the tombs together and I played him the _'James Bond'_ theme tune.

I go over to it, surprised that we had never noticed it before, seeing as it is right next to the door on the shelf. _Hidden in plane sight. _I take it off the shelf and go back to the bed. I strum a few cords into it, quietly so that I don't disturb Rick in the bathroom. I'm a little rusty, but after a few minutes I get my rhythm back and I grin at the music I make. I've missed music. I try to think of a song I know how to play. Or _knew _rather. I remember one, 'Candy – by Paulo Nutini'. I loved the song, and I played it for my school talent show, while Penelope sang. Mom cried. I would have been embarrassed, but a lot of the other audience was crying, too.

I begin playing the song, grinning as the music brings back the memories of how much fun the talent show was. Penelope, Patrick, Dad, Mom, grandparents, my uncles and aunties and cousins were all there. They were my old family... I think I can finally let go of them now. I'll never forget them. Not ever. But I think I deserve to let them go, to finally let them lay to rest..

I strum away at the instrument, humming quietly with the music and singing the lyrics in my head.

_'Darling, I'll bathe your skin,_

_I'll even wash your clothes,_

_just give me some candy, _

_before I go._

_Oh, darling, I'll kiss your eyes,_

_and lay down on your rug,_

_just give me some candy,_

_after my hug'_

I stop the song, still smiling. I think Rick has left the bathroom now, so I can change my own bandages. I climb off of the bed and leave the bedroom, placing the instrument back on the shelf.

I gently push the bathroom door open, finding it empty. I go in, but I realise that there isn't enough bandages in the first aid box left here from yesterday, so I leave and go downstairs, hearing Rick turn the page in his book from the bedroom Michonne slept in the night before.

I find the bandages on the kitchen counter, it's one that Michonne must have found yesterday.

I grab it, but as I turn back to leave the kitchen again, I become aware of a sort of shuffling noise, or dragging of feet. But it's too neat to be walkers. For a moment, I just assume that it is just Carl and Michonne, returning early because they have forgotten something. I almost go and greet them.

But it's not my family.

It's not the voices that define home to me.

It's not even the sound of a walker.

My whole body tenses and becomes ridged, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end making goose bumps ripple through my whole body, as my ears are met by the unwelcome voice of a gruff sounding, southern drawl. But to my body shaking horror, the closer the stranger comes, the more voices I hear that accompany him.

_Fuck. Oh, fuck!_


	19. Chapter 19 Claimed

**Eli **thank you, sweets! I love your reviews!

**Guest **haha, yeah, poor Oliver. He's a little awkward haha by a little I mean a lot. XD

**TwilightEclps **ahh, thank you so much, just, remember to sleep at some point!

**Warning: **This chapter contains scenes of non consensual sexual violence. It is not graphic, just may be disturbing.

**Oliver's POV**

I freeze, dread bleeding through my body like venom. My eyes widen and my body courses with adrenaline, sending my whole anatomy on red alert with silent sirens blaring in my mind, screaming for me to get myself out of danger.  
>I startle when someone tries the back door and I leap into the wall, flattening my back against it out of sight of any windows from the porch.<br>"Dammit. It ain't open, Joe." I hear another someone try the door, shoving their weight against the strong wooden surface, but it's locked.  
>I almost feel relieved, but then my heart drops and my gaze shoots to the front door. <em>Oh, shit.<em> With the cable tied around it and the couch propped against it, there'd be no chance that they could get in that way, but to my horror, I see that during the day, Rick has moved the couch a little way away from the door and the cable is still lying on the couch after Michonne arrived yesterday! _Fuck!_  
>Then another man talks, his voice shrill and cracked. "Let's check the front," he says gruffly, as if he could unintentionally read my terrified thoughts.<br>I curse under my breath, but I know that there is nothing I can do as all of the intruders begin to make their way around the porch.  
>I launch myself out of the kitchen, barely missing the men's sights as I silently leap up the staircase, appreciating the awful mixture of drugs and adrenaline as it numbs the throb in my head and body.<br>I hear them break open the front door with ease and I flinch as the wood cracks and splinters from its already broken hinges. _How could we have left ourselves so vulnerable?!_  
>I make it to Rick's room. "Rick," I hiss at the sleeping man, panic threatening to make me shake him. I watch desperately as his eyes flick around under his lids, dreaming, or having a nightmare. "Rick. Wake up."<br>His eyes snap open and he startles at seeing me so close and looking so terrified. "Wh-" But I shake my head frantically, waving my hands in front of him to get him to stay silent.  
>That's when Rick hears them too, as someone downstairs cries out in pain and the rest of them erupt in awful laughter like cackling dogs.<br>Rick tenses, shock and dread sweeping his expression and I glance desperately over my shoulder at the door that I foolishly left open in my panic. But I know that we will be heard if I close it now, so I look back to Rick, who stuffs his watch into his pocket and silently rolls off of the bed. In one large step, Rick flattens me and himself to the wall next to the door and we wait as a man walks down the hallway and goes into the office.  
>When we are sure the stranger won't hear us, Rick grabs my collar and pulls me to the bed, roughly shoving me to crouch and climb under it. He grabs his book and gracelessly rolls under the bed with me, his breath catching as he strains himself. But I catch a glimpse of the water bottle that he has left up on the bedside table. <em>Oh shit! Evidence...<em>  
>I tap Rick's shaking shoulder and point to it. He almost winces, cursing under his breath and then he goes to reach it, but I grab his shirt and shove him back under the bed when I hear the other man about to leave the office. Rick gets back under the bed just in time and we freeze in our panic, mouths open and our hands outstretched pointlessly. <em>Don't see us! Don't see us!<em>  
>The man doesn't see us, and walks past the bedroom and into another room; I think mine and Carl's bedroom.<br>We ease up slightly, and I can hear Rick trying his best to silence his wheezing and panting, but then the man comes back. We freeze again and I hold my breath, feeling a bead of sweat roll down my forehead as the man walks into the room, slowly stepping closer to the bed. I watch, terrified and shaking as I stare at his brown and blood stained boots, and the ends of his denim jeans, and the thin barrel of his rifle as he circles the bed like a vulture.  
>Rick's hands shake, and I can see the quivering shine of his wedding ring beside me on his finger.<br>The stranger goes over to the closet, kicking a stray shirt out of the way before swinging the closet door open. He peers inside and I beg Rick inside of my head to keep his breathing quiet. He's doing well, but I can almost feel the cough that he is fighting desperately against.  
>Finding nothing and no one, the man closes the closet and then goes to the wardrobe. I listen as he runs his hand over the wooden surface and then a small cloud of dust falls to his feet as he wipes it off of his palms.<br>Rick makes a quiet choking noise and I dart my head around to look at him, relieved when I realise that he is only looking at his watch; not about to cough and give away out hiding spot.  
>I read 11:00a.m.<br>_Oh no._ Another rush of adrenaline and panic surges through me, no longer comforted to know the exact time for once. Michonne said 'before noon' and with only 1 hour left until then, I'm terrified that Carl and Michonne could be back at any moment. **_They'll walk right into these guys..._**  
>The man walks over, standing right in front of us. I could reach out and touch his boot if I had such a death wish. Rick winces in fear, but I can't move. Paralysed and terrified, I just close my eyes, like a child playing hide and seek.<br>_If I can't see him, then he can't see me._ **_You're logic is stupid and pointless..._** _Shh..._ **_You're both going to die._** _Please?_ **_You're both about to get dragged out from under here and have your throats slit_** **_open._**_Please, stop..._  
>The man steps to the other side of the bed closest to Rick, before slumping onto the mattress. But in his fall, the man causes the bed to cave in on us, slamming the planks of wood into the back of my searing head.<br>With every ounce of my effort and will power, somehow I manage to keep my horrific wince silent. My head reels and pounds unbearably and I cradle it desperately in my hands. _FUCK!_ I force my scream to stay in my throat, and with the strain I feel like my head is about to explode! Until finally I just go limp, resting my face on the cold wooden floor with itchy dust clumps sticking to my left cheek. But I don't care. I just need the pain to stop.  
>Finally, the pain decreases to a bearable amount. I will myself to stay silent as I lie still beside Rick, fearing that if I do move again, I will scream from the agony.<br>I listen blankly, catatonically, as the man settles into the bed and grunts a little, shifting his weight a little before finally going quiet. His breathing becomes slow and calm as he drifts off to sleep.  
>It's a long time before I feel Rick move. I dare to look at him, wincing only slightly as I see him slowly shimmy himself out from under the bed. But again, I have to grab him and pull him back under when I hear another man coming up the stairs. <em>Now I know where Carl gets his unawareness from!<em>  
>Rick quietly and quickly sets himself back next to me, just as the man gets to the top of the staircase and walks to the room.<br>"Yo!" he barks, knocking loudly on the door frame.  
>We freeze, terrified that he has seen us.<br>But he just stands there, watching his sleeping friend in the bed. "Comfy?"  
>The man on the bed rouses and grunts as he awakens, and I close my eyes, overwhelmed by my mixture of relief and terror. "You're wakin' me up, to see if I'm comfortable?" the tired man growls irritably.<br>"I wanna lie down."  
>"Choose another bed, son of a bitch."<br>"Them's kid's beds," the man says, stepping into the room and advancing on his companion. "I want this one."  
>"It's claimed."<br>"I didn't hear it," the man counteracts him. _'Claimed'? What the fuck is claimed?_ "You're gonna have to lay claim somewhere else."  
>I listen, keeping my eyes closed and begging them to go away, for them to leave the room and sort out whatever it is that they are angry about somewhere else. But that doesn't happen. They grab each other and begin fighting.<br>The man who entered the room first is thrown to the floor and I stare at him as he is pinned to the wooden surface and wrestles with his 'friend'. _He'll see us! He'll fucking see us!_ The second man grabs his jaw, before letting go and then socking him around the face.  
>That's when he sees us.<br>Both Rick and I flinch and push ourselves backwards, but it's too late. The man's eyes widen as his shocked gaze meets the both of ours. He is about to tell that we are here but the other man wraps his hands around his neck, making his face turn an awful purple colour.  
>"Len! Stop!" he gargles, struggling for breath.<br>But 'Len' doesn't stop. Heart pounding, head reeling and sweat streaming down my face; I stare at the choking man as he stares right back at me. I almost feel sorry for him. How could they fight over something so stupid. There are already living dead monsters trying to rip us apart out there. Why would 'friends' go after each other, too? It doesn't make sense! These people are animals. Monsters.  
>The man's eyes bulge for a long moment, before finally closing. His black banana meets the floor as he leaves consciousness and Len pants over his friend, exhausted after his exertion, before letting go of him and standing. I wonder for a moment if he has killed him, and I fear that he will come back and attack us as a walker. But I can hear the guy breathing and I almost let out a sigh of relief, but I don't, because relief is impossible right now.<br>Len laughs. "My bed now, Jack Off," he sneers. My eyes widen as I see his feet raise as he leaps on the bed, but this time I flatten my head to the floor before the bed slams into me. It hurts, but nowhere near as bad as it would have. But I can't say the same for Rick; he was distracted by the unconscious man in front of us, and both his shoulders and head slam into the floor just like mine did. But thankfully, he stays silent. I stare at him worriedly, but there is nothing either of us can do.  
>Len lets out a loud moan, letting his leg hang over the bed as it sags under his weight and presses into our spines. But eventually, he goes quiet and falls asleep.<br>I hear banging, recognising it as the tennis ball Carl had before. Worry hits me over the face as my fear for Carl and Michonne grows unbearably, willing them to stay out there, stay away from the house, these people.

A long time passes and my terror forces me to shrink away from everything, blocking it all out as best as I can. Rick shuffles past me, tapping me on the shoulder and snapping me back into reality. He motions me to stay where I am, so I do as he says. I watch as he climbs out from under the bed, pausing every few moments when Len makes a noise. But eventually, he gets out and crouches beside the bed. A moment passes, until Rick glances at me and motions me to come out. Silently, I shimmy out from under the bed, my head reeling and focusing on keeping my tightening airways open.  
>I glance at Len, seeing him spread across the bed above the covers, out cold just like the other man on the floor, only it's at his own will unlike his friend. I creep to the bedroom door, but both me and Rick can hear another man walking up the stairs as he throws the tennis ball to the floor as he goes.<br>Rick leaps towards me, leading me out of the bedroom and flattening both of us against the wall of the bedroom that I have been sleeping in. I catch a glimpse of the man; Caucasian, grey hair and a rough beard.  
>I back away from the door into the room, my whole body rigid and fighting against my simple commands as it shakes, wanting nothing more than to curl up into a ball and disappear. But I make myself move. Rick and I rush into the small separate room where the bed is, and I see my machete on the duvet, so I quickly grab it, holding it in my hand as I flatten my spine against the wall on the right, and Rick takes the left.<br>I hold my breath, as the banging of the tennis ball comes closer and the man walks into the room. _He'll find us! Fuck! Fuck!_ He walks to the doorway of the second room we are in and I stay paralysed to the wall, begging him to not walk any further. I see the fluorescent flash of the tennis ball fly between me and Rick and bounce off of the wall next to the window, then propel itself back into the man's hand, which is only inches away from my face.  
>I shut my eyes as he does it again, wincing when I hear the bang. <em>Don't see us. Don't see us. Please?<em>  
>The man pauses a moment, before finally deciding to back away. But then, my whole anatomy shakes and screams in terror as he says his next words.<p>

"I know you're in there kid... I can see you in the reflection."

**Carl's POV**

Michonne's been in there for too long. And it's too quiet. It doesn't feel right.  
>I leave the other bedroom I am in and rush into the children's room. "Michonne?" I call, just as Michonne comes out of the second children's bedroom. She breathes heavily and flattens herself against the doors, looking too distant for my comfort. "Everything okay?"<br>She snaps out of her troubled thoughts and looks at me. "Yeah. It's fine," she says shakily, before composing herself a little and standing a little straighter.  
>But I can tell that she is lying so I step forward, eyeing up the door. "There's a baby in there," I tell her, my voice softer than I meant it to be.<br>"It's a dog," she lies.  
>I stare at her for a moment, nodding a fraction. "Oliver and I... we," I pause, making sure my voice won't betray my emotions again, "we saw a baby... yesterday," I explain, glancing at the floor to hide my face under my hat, thinking about my sister.<br>I hear Michonne sigh a little.  
>"My dad let me name 'er," I say, slowly looking up at her again. "Maybe..." I exhale for a moment, silently allowing myself to entertain the idea of there being a place where all of our deceased loved ones are right now, together and happy. "Maybe her and Andre are... are together, somewhere."<br>Michonne smiles, relaxing a little away from the door. I purse my lips at her, unable to bring myself to smile back.  
>"Come on. It's almost noon," she says softly, taking my shoulders and leading me out of the room. "Your dad'll wonder where we are if we're late."<br>We leave the house with both of our supply bags full to a satisfactory amount, and we head back to the house.  
>"What was it that you and Oliver were laughing about so much last night anyway?" Michonne asks me with a grin, presumably over hearing what Dad said to me this morning, or just overhearing Oliver and I laughing last night, too.<br>I smirk at my odd shoes as I walk. "Oh... uh, well, we were playing scrabble," I say.  
>Michonne cocks an eyebrow at me. "I've never heard of such a hilarious scrabble game," she says sarcastically, sensing that I am missing out quite a lot of the story and she raises her brow for me to continue.<br>I smirk and shrug. "I kinda tried to make up a word. But, Oliver proved me wrong," I say, missing out the part about the centrefold... and the kissing... and the touching.  
>"What was it?" Michonne grins. "The word?"<br>I look at the floor, unable to relax my relentless smirk. "Ostentatiousness," I answer.  
>Michonne laughs. "Didn't all those books you two read together teach you anything?"<br>I frown at her. "I knew it's wasn't a real word," I defend myself.  
>Michonne suppresses her grin. "I know," she says, straightening her face and faking a serious expression. "But I bet it <em>could<em> be a real word," she jokes.  
>I grin at her. "That's what I said," I mutter, chuckling. "But he wouldn't make it up for me."<br>Michonne laughs. "Good. You need to learn how to admit defeat," she chuckles, before settling he expression and watching me for a moment.  
>I roll my eyes in jest, knowing that she is right.<br>"You know, the first time I met him he was talking to himself," Michonne says, grinning. "Somethin' 'bout brushing?" she gives me a playfully puzzled look.  
>I smirk and nod, smiling to myself as I remember when I caught him talking to himself before we had our first kiss. "Yeah. He does that. It's cu-" I almost say 'cute', "uh, cool," I save myself.<br>I see Michonne watching me out of the corner of my eye and I straighten my face and look at her. "What?" I ask when she doesn't say anything for a few seconds, swallowing nervously.  
>She purses her lips, hesitating to answer me so she looks away.<br>_Why is she acting so strangely?_ I tilt my head and furrow my brow at her. "C'mon, what?" I insist. "Tell me."  
>She stops and looks at me, raising her brow. "Carl... I thought you'd've known by now that you can tell me anything," she says, resting her hand on my shoulder.<br>My expression drops. "W-what?" I breathe, getting a sudden rush of adrenaline as I fear that I know what she is talking about.  
>Michonne tilts her head and cocks a brow. "I'm not an idiot, Carl... I may not say a lot, and your Dad may be pretty oblivious... but not much gets past me," she says.<br>I stare at her. But I know that she knows. I know that she knows about me and Oliver. I chew my lip and look away, feeling my cheeks heat up and my heartbeat rack my whole chest. _Oh god. What is she going to do?!_  
>"Carl. It's okay. I'm happy for you both," she says.<br>My head snaps up to look at her, wondering if she is lying or making fun of me. But it looks like she's telling the truth. "R-really?" I ask doubtfully, my breath catching.  
>"Of course," she nods. "I think it's wonderful.I think you two are good for each other, I've said the same thing to him, too."<br>I feel a smile spread over my lips. A wide smile, that even if I were to try it won't be suppressed easily. Michonne pats my shoulder, and gently pulls me to keep walking. But after a moment, I get over my inner elation and become curious about something.  
>"When did you talk to Oliver about it?" I ask, wondering why he had never said anything.<br>Michonne wrinkles her nose slightly. "I haven't really... It was back at the prison. I said you'd make a cute couple and he blushed darker than you right now," she smirks. "I wasn't sure, but I sussed you both out."  
>"How?" I ask, glancing at her under my hat to hide the blushing she was referring to.<br>She grins, averting her eyes for a moment. Until finally looking at me. "I saw the hickey on his neck before we left... I'm pretty sure he didn't give it to himself."  
>I look away and a choking sound falls out of my throat, feeling the skin on my cheeks and neck burn an even darker crimson. "I-I... w-we... I-"<br>"Carl. I don't need details..." she chuckles.  
>I frown at her. "I wasn't gonna give you any!" I bark. "Th-there are none to give anyway." Maybe that one was a slight fib... but Michonne doesn't need to know that.<br>She smiles empathetically and slings her arm around my shoulder, even at my protest. "Don't worry about it, Carl. I was 14 once, too. I know what it's like... Boys are fun... _Lot's_ o' fun. You'll find that out soon enough," she chuckles mischievously. _Oh jeeze._  
>I can feel my cheeks and neck burn even more, so much so that I can feel the heat radiating from them and I am afraid that Michonne can feel them, too. "Michonne, stop," I beg, embarrassment forcing me to cringe badly.<br>She laughs again, dropping her arm from me and bumping my shoulder with hers. Despite how awkward I feel, there is nothing I can do to help my smile. I glance at her. "I'm... I'm gonna tell him. Dad, I mean. I'm gonna tell him about me and Oliver."  
>Michonne smiles, looking glad, or maybe proud. She is about to say something, but that's when we hear the gunshots.<br>I swivel around, seeing The House. My heart and stomach leap to my throat in alarm and I begin to rush towards it. But Michonne grabs my arm, stopping me from going any further. "What're you doing?!" I hiss at her, pulling my arm out of her grasp. But I startle when I hear the screaming, and when I turn to the house again I see Dad sprinting for us. Only... he's alone.  
>Dread engulfs me and my legs move on impulse, but Dad grabs me around my middle and shoves me the other way. "What-? What're you doing?! Get off me!" I claw at his jacket, kicking my legs out to get free. But he is too strong and won't let go.<br>"Go!" he barks at me. "Go!"  
>But I fight against him, cupping my only free hand to my mouth as I am almost lugged over my father's shoulder. "Oli-!" But Michonne stops my shout as she clasps her hand over my mouth, helping Dad pull me away. <em>What the fuck is happening?!<em> I'm so confused, and afraid, and infuriated. I try to shove them away. But they are too strong against just me. But I don't stop trying to get away. _I have to find Oliver! Where is he!? What happened?!_  
>I fight and fight, but I get further and further away from the house as Dad and Michonne pull me away, too distraught to bring the words to my convulsing throat as I fear the worst has happened.<br>They wrench me to a train track, the one we passed before we arrived at the suburb and Michonne finally releases my mouth. "Get off! What the hell're you doing! We have to go back! We have to get Oliver!" I bellow, desperate for answers.  
>Dad only shakes his head, wincing in his despair and unable to explain himself.<br>"What happened?" I get out, so afraid of his answer that my arms and spine begin to shake violently.  
>"I'm so sorry," Dad cries. "Carl, I'm so sorry."<br>I stumble away from him, only just managing to catch myself before I fall over. I stare at my dad, as tears well in his eyes and his guilt spills from him. "No... N-no... NO!" I wail, unable to come to terms with his apologies.  
>Michonne wraps her arms around me as I double over, crying at the earth and train tracks, overwhelmed and mortified. My sobs shake and rack my whole body, but I pull myself away from her. Mortified, I glare at my father. "What did you do?" I order. "What happened to him?"<br>Dad's eyebrows arch and tears roll down his cheeks, but I feel no sympathy or tolerance for him, so I glare harder, silently forcing him to speak.  
>"They... they got him, Carl. I'm so sorry. But there was..." he shakes his head, "there was nothing I could do," he sobs, roughly wiping the tears from his face and looking away from me.<br>I shake my head, refusing to believe him as more cries come out of me at their own accord and I fumble with where I move my stumbling feet, unable to process what he has just told me. "He... He's dead?"  
>Dad stares at me for a long moment, before simply nodding.<br>My body goes limp. I crash to the train tracks, slamming my knees and forearms to the wooden planks under me as I crumple, overpowered by my sorrow. I cry, unable to stop myself. So I don't stop... I don't think that I never will.  
>Dad grabs my shoulders and pulls me to stand. I would fight against him, scream at him that I hate him and for him to leave me the fuck alone... but I'm finished. I can't bring the words to my mouth. So I just keep crying, clutching helplessly to Michonne's side as we turn right, and wander aimlessly along the tracks.<p>

**Oliver's POV**

_~ Back To_ _Earlier ~_

"I know you're in there kid... I can see you in the reflection."

My eyes wrench open and my heart stops. Everything stops. Unable to process his words, I look desperately at the window and my eyes meet the man's as he stares right back at me in the reflection with a smug smirk on his expression. I jerk my head out of his vision. As if it can help me now. _Oh, fuck! No, no, no, no!_ I'm done. I'm truly done this time. Betrayed by my own damned reflection.  
>"Come out now an' I won't kill ya. I jus' wanna see who I'm dealin' with," the man half jokes, because he saw that I am just a teenager. "Come on now, before I'm gonna have to come in there an' get ya out."<br>**_Oliver, he doesn't know that Rick is in here..._**  
>My breath catches as I look at Rick, keeping my face out of the man's vision in the window so that he doesn't see me looking at my friend. Rick stares at me wildly, terrified. He begins to move, about to leap out on the man and fight him, but I widen my eyes and shake my head.<br>Rick grimaces in fear and protest, readying himself to attack. But we both know that it wont end well for either of us. _No, there's only one way that this can go..._  
>I wince, thinking about what I have to do. I look at Rick again, fighting my tears as I mouth "keep him safe" to him. Rick furrows his brow, so I repeat myself. "Keep him safe." I know what I have to do now, so my only hope is that Rick can escape and save Carl. I need Carl to be safe. I need him to be alright.<br>Rick's face drops, understanding what I am about to do. He is about to move, about to leap out and kill himself, so I move before he has the chance.  
>"There you are," the stranger fakes a surprised smile, mocking me.<br>I can't respond, as I am shaking so badly that I have to focus solely on not collapsing.  
>"What's your name, kid?"<br>I can see Rick using every ounce of his will power not to leap out of cover and try to help me, but I refuse to acknowledge him. Silently begging him to stay where he is.  
>"I said, what's your name, boy?"<br>My chest convulses as I try to force my words out of my throat. "Oliver," I answer finally.  
>"Joe," he says. For a moment, I think he is calling me Joe, but I realise that he has just told me his own name.<br>I nod. What else can I do?  
>"You got a group?" Joe asks. I begin to shake my head, but he interrupts me. "Don't lie to me, Oliver... I don't tolerate liars." I stare at him, clutching my middle to hide my shaking arms and he asks again if I am in a group.<br>I nod, yes. "But they're out on a run," I force from tightening my throat, knowing that he knows I won't have been in this house alone.  
>Joe's head rolls back, narrowing his eyes at me sceptically. "Why'd they leave you here?"<br>My mind races for a convincing enough lie, hoping that Joe can't tell. I lift my hand and point to the bandage on my temple.  
>"What happened to ya?" he asks, eyeing up the injury and looking over the rest of my bruised face and hands. I stare at him, doubting that he really cares and overwhelmingly confused by why he is asking in the first place. He stares at me, with that horrible mocking expression on his face, almost as if he is toying with me before he slits my throat. <em>Playing with his food...<em>  
>He steps forward, insisting that I answer him and I flinch, reflexively jerking my hand in front of me and stepping away from him into the wall behind where Rick is. My answer is desperate, and I am too scared to even calm myself. "I got hit. S-someone hit me with a gun."<br>Joe retreats slightly, motioning me to step a little more into the main bedroom,= and I reluctantly follow his orders, moving further away from Rick, who is barely able to restrain himself from reaching out to help me. But he can't. We both know that.  
>"Why didn't they jus' shoot ya?" Joe asks.<br>"He wasn't trying to kill me."  
>Joe pauses, thinking about my answer.<br>"Please? What do you want from me?" I finally ask, desperate for some kind of reassurance from him. I don't trust him at all. But I somehow feel better when he is talking, like if he keeps talking it will give me enough time to magically delete him from existence.  
>"Come with me," Joe says, deliberately not answering me as he tosses the tennis ball to the floor and catches it again.<br>I stay where I am, shaking too much to tell my body to move even if I wanted to.  
>"Claimed!"<br>I startle at voices downstairs and Joe briefly turns to look to the door.  
>"Claimed!" Another man shouts.<br>"Shut the hell up!" Len shouts from the other bedroom. "I'm tryina sleep!"  
>I silently begin pulling my machete from its sheath, but Joe turns and sees me before I can do anything. "You don't wanna do that, Oliver. I got my men down there. They'll hear ya and after you're done killin' me, they'll jus' kill ya anyway."<br>_Why is he doing this? Why doesn't he just get his friends now?! Why is he pretending that I could ever be strong enough to kill him anyway?_ I put my machete back, tensing my jaw as I glare at him.  
>"There's a woman backed up in here!" a man blares from downstairs.<br>Len rushes out of the other bedroom, not noticing me or Joe inside of this one. "What?! Is she hot?!"  
>My eyes widen. <em>Oh no! Are they back already? No, no!<em>  
>But I soon realise that neither Michonne or Carl are back yet. "Don't grab your pecker jus' yet, she ain't here," a man downstairs answers. My heart pounds and I almost sob with relief.<br>"What the hell're you hollerin' about?" Len orders, leaning over the banister.  
>My eyes shift from him to Joe, almost too terrified to process the intruders as they converse with each other. Joe looks amused by my fear, and it only makes me more scared of him.<br>"Found 'er shirt," someone answers. "Must o', washed it this mornin'," the man answers.  
>I wince. <em>I left the shirt on the radiator. He's found it.<em> **_Dammit, Oliver!_**  
>Joe steps towards me, and I instinctively grab for my machete handle again. But he raises his brow. "Don't, Oliver. Jus' come with me," he says. I want to say that he is reassuring me, but I feel nothing close to reassured, just terrified and infuriated my how comfortable he seems.<br>"Joe? What're you chin waggin' to now?" Len says, hearing him talking to me. My shaking increases as Len steps into the room. He sees me, and his eyes widen and he raises his rifle to my face. "Who the fuck is this?"  
>I see Rick shuffle out of my peripheral vision and I close my eyes, willing him to stay where is with everything left in me. But he knows that if he moves, he will be seen, and he wont stand a chance of saving Carl or Michonne. So to my relief, he stays where he is.<br>"This is Oliver," Joe says.  
>A choking sound escapes me as I drop my sheathed machete to my side again, holding it loosely in my shaking hand. There's nothing I can do. And I know that if I stay here any longer, Rick might not be able to even help himself. So I need to go, now. And Rick can save Carl and Michonne. He has to. Like I said before; I'd give up my life for them. I guess now is the moment I have to live up to the statement. For my family. For Carl.<br>Joe looks at Len and pulls his gun down a little aiming it away from me. He leans closer to him and whispers something into Len's ear. "You wanna claim 'im?" I think I hear him say. But I can't be sure, because it doesn't make any sense at all.  
>Len grimaces. "No, Man. I ain't into that, if you find a chick then I'm down," he snickers. "I'm sure Dan or Billy'll wanna get in on the claim, though."<br>I am too afraid to figure out what they mean. And I'm not so sure I want to find out. But I'm terrified because I know that soon... I'm going to find out anyway.  
>Joe suppresses his grin and motions me to follow them again, and this time, I force my legs to move.<br>Just as I get to them, Len yanks my machete from my shaking hands. "Claimed," he sneers at me, pulling it over his back and readjusting the size.  
>He grabs my shoulder and pulls me out of the bedroom after Joe. I stumble out, only just catching myself as Joe takes my other shoulder, pulling me out of Len's grasp and tugging me to the staircase, both of them snickering at my struggle. Even with the adrenaline taking over my body, my head throbs and the terror is causing my asthma to react again. But I fight the cough throbbing in my throat.<br>Another man comes up the staircase, and when he sees me and has gotten over his short surprise, he grins. "Who's this?" he sneers, standing too close to me and I recoil into the wall, looking away submissively and suppressing my grimace as I smell the alcohol and drugs on his breath.  
>"Lou, this is Oliver... Oliver, Lou," Joe interrupts nonchalantly and undeterred by the man's uncomfortable behaviour.<br>Lou stares at me, causing my breath to hitch, trying with everything that I have to stop my relentless shaking as I stare at the floor, too afraid to look him in the eyes.  
>"You wanna claim?" Joe asks. <em>Oh god, what does he mean? Oh god.<em>  
>Lou seems to examine me for a moment, before shaking his head and turning to look at his friend, wrinkling his nose. "Nah, I gotta go take a dump," he says, and then heads up the stairs.<br>I swear that I see Rick move across the bedroom and I hold my breath, begging that Lou didn't see him. He didn't and continues to the bathroom.  
>Joe shrugs, before he takes my shoulder and pulls me from the wall, sending a shooting pain through my head as it jerks from the movement, making me wince. Joe doesn't apologise. I didn't think he would, so I do as he wants and I walk with him into the living room.<br>"You found a shirt," Joe says to the 3 other men in the room. "She could be fifty miles awa-" he stops, and then quickly turns to me, furrowing his brow. "Wait, I guess she's not is she? She's gotta come back for you right?"  
>I stare at him, and he steps closer to me and points a finger at me. "When is she comin' back?"<br>The three other men in the room were all slumped either on the couch, or the floor, but now, all but one stands up and stares at me. I stare back, wild eyed and feeling a bead of sweat roll down my face, my heart feels almost exhausted from beating so fast.  
>"When?" Joe orders in a growl, making my blood curdle.<br>"I d-don't know," I answer shakily.

"Claimed!"

I suddenly dart my head to look at the man who spoke. Brown, wiry hair and beard, overweight and with a terrifyingly desperate look in his monstrous eyes. I freeze, paralysed as his word rings in my ears.  
>The man who was sat next to him glares at his friend. "Dan, you bastard," he grumbles, almost jealously, before sighing and nodding reluctantly. "All right, fine. But don't spoil 'im too much. I want my turn."<br>"You'll get your turn Billy. After. Jus' give us a minute," Dan replies, standing a little straighter and exchanging a glance with Joe.  
>"A minute!" Billy laughs. "Yeah, that's all you'll need."<br>For some reason, my mind didn't click to what he was talking about. For some reason, I didn't catch onto what is about to happen to me. Or my mind wouldn't _let_ me figure it out. Nothing like it has ever happened to me before, and I guess because of that, I believed it never would. Never _could,_ rather. Because in real life, before everything went to shit, stuff like this just didn't happen to you.  
>I should have run. I should have hid. I should have fought. But I just stand there in the doorway, frozen to the spot as Dan marches towards me and grabs me by the arm.<br>I know what he is going to do now, and it sends every nerve in my body screaming in terror. I was afraid about getting my throat slit, or getting a bullet through my skull. But what will happen to me is so much worse. So much so that I would take a bullet or a cut across my jugular a thousand times... if it means that what Dan will do to me doesn't happen.  
>But I can't choose how I die. I have no control over how I will be mutilated... violated... raped... So Dan drags me down the hallway and past them all as they laugh at my struggle.<br>"NO!" I roar. "No! Get off of me!"  
>Dan laughs and shoves me harder away from his sneering companions, but I grab at them desperately, catching jacket sleeves and trouser legs. Something or someone cuts my face, and I can taste blood in my mouth as Dan pries me out of the hallway. I fight against the monster, but he violently grabs under my arms and throws me into the utility room, slamming the door behind us.<br>I try to leap from the floor, I try to reach for the key I left in the back door, I try to escape. But Dan shoves me back onto the floor before I can even bring my legs under me, slamming my chin into the cold tiles with an agonising cry from my lungs.  
>"C'mon now, boy," the monster cackles, pinning my hands to the floor and sitting on top of my spine. I cry out as the unbearable pain rockets through my whole body, sending mocking stars into my blurring vision. He pulls me over onto my back to look at him, but I close my eyes, frantically wriggling under his iron grip.<p>

"Stop your squirmin'!"

"No! Stop!" I whine, coughing as my wind pipe begins to close on itself. "G-get off!"  
>But he doesn't listen! He gropes under my shirt, clawing at the bandage on my abdomen before grabbing at my ripped skin and using it to shove me back over onto my front.<br>"Grahh!" I cry out, the air forcing itself from my chest as he sets his filthy, heavy form on top of me again, laughing at my horror.  
>I try to pull myself away, almost managing to roll out from under him. But he throws his fist at my jaw, sending me plummeting to the floor again with a loud grunt. I am almost knocked out, and I go limp, unwillingly letting him have enough time to begin unbuckling his jeans.<br>But the rip of his zipper pulls me back to reality and I force myself to move again. **_You should just give up, Oliver. You're going to die and there is nothing_** **_that_** **_you can do about it._** _No! No, I can escape._ **_No. You can't. I'm sorry, but this is it. I'm so sorry,_** **_Oliver..._** **_but this is how you die._**  
>Despite this, I still try, even as the monster shoves my face into the tiles and forces me to stay still underneath him, whispering horror into my ear, his sour breath bleeding over my skin. Tears stream down my face as I fight against him, but he is too strong.<br>Over the terrible blood pounding in my ears, I think I hear gunshots, and someone else cry out in the house. Somehow, my fear amplifies impossibly more than ever before. **_They've found Rick, too._** _No! No, they can't have! He has to save Carl! It can't end this way!_  
>I become enraged. Pointlessly and helplessly furious at the whole world for letting this happen to us. I throw my fists out behind me at him, sobbing for him to stop. But he doesn't react, only laughs as he gropes at my jeans and shoves himself against me with more merciless, sick violence.<br>I've always been terrified of death. Always feeling so much despair and sadness to those who have gotten there before me. But I'm jealous of them now. Now, I embrace death, welcome it. Anything over this. Weather it's an endless nothingness, Heaven or even Hell; I'd rather be there than here.  
>But suddenly, the utility room door swings open, banging into the wall as Joe launches himself through it. "Dan! It's Lou! C'mon help us!" he growls desperately.<br>Dan leans off of me, but I am too traumatised to move so I just gag and gasp into the floor, feeling the disgusting weight of his hand shift over the skin on my spine as he looks to Joe. "I ain't done!" Dan hisses over his shoulder.  
>But Joe grabs him, pulling him off of my shaking body as I try to move, but I can't make my muscles work, I just shake. "Get your dirty ass moving!" Joe shouts at his friend. Dan glances at me hungrily as he reluctantly zips up his jeans again.<br>"HELP! JOE! HELP!" another scream emits itself through the house, along with another gunshot. I would have startled, but I'm too dazed, too horrified.  
>Joe turns to leave, pulling Dan to accompany him. "The kid ain't goin' anywhere! C'mon!" he orders. "He'll still be there when you come back!"<br>They rush out of the utility room, slamming the door behind them. And I am left alone. But I'm still alive, and I hate them for it. I try to bring myself to my feet, but I can't breath. I gag and retch, half from my closing wind pipe, and the other half out of pure repulsed agony from what I've just had to experience.  
>I can handle the exhaustion. When I'm exhausted, I can still eventually manage to fish out my inhaler. But it's this terror... The terror is too much to handle. It makes my hands shake and convulse, so badly that I can't control them at all. I can't get my fingers to grab my inhaler. I am helpless. Too terrified to function.<br>Somehow, I muster enough power over my legs and bring them to stand up. Wincing from the pain shooting through my entire body and managing to gasp some air into my lungs, it hurts so much that I am sure I will pass out, but somehow I don't. It's like I am just so done with everything that my body wont allow me to give up anyway. And I hate it.  
>I stumble to the back door, hearing the screaming continuing from upstairs. But I block it out and force my hands to turn the key that no one had noticed was still in here, but my hands are still convulsing. So I crouch down and use my teeth, managing to turn the key that little bit to finally unlock it.<br>I stumble out of the house, falling onto my face on the porch, and when I bring myself to stand again I see the splatter of blood from my face across the wooden floor. I ignore it. **_Get away. Get away from here, Oliver._** My legs do something I hope is a run, one leg after the other. Left, right, left, right. I beg that no one is following me, because if they are I have no chance. Already my chances are impossible, but I can't stay in there, I have to get away, even if it means I'm torn apart by teeth. I'd rather be torn apart by teeth than torn apart by those people.  
>I fall too many times, afraid that I won't be able to pick myself up again as my lungs beg for the air that once again eludes me, but I manage, somehow, running on pure, empty, raw instinct.<br>I get to a train track, the same one that we crossed before we found the suburb. I go left. Left has always felt like the first place to go, the first place you look. I run for what feels like hours, years, my whole body screaming with every step, or bump, or sob, or gag. Until it finally becomes too much.  
>I collapse.<br>Gasping for breath and retching when I don't find enough, I can feel my face burning blue and white, begging for oxygen. I try to get my inhaler, but even the exhaustion is too much now, and the shaking hasn't stopped, so it is impossible. I crave control over myself again, but it is completely impossible.  
>My vision becomes blurred and I roll my head to the side. For a moment, I thought I heard foot steps; some walker coming to make a meal out of the idiot lying here waiting for it. <em>Well come and get me. I don't care anymore. Not after that. I'm done. I give up.<em>

"Oliver? Oh my god! Oliver!"

But that's not a walker...

My eyes blur over his dark skin and grey beanie hat...

And their long, blond locks and fearful innocent faces...

And her fair skin and short, grey hair.

_I'm dead aren't I? I'm really dead._  
>But then everything becomes too blurry, too dark, too heavy, too closed...<p>

... I black out.


	20. Chapter 20 Not Everyone Died

_**Eli **Thank you, you're awesome! Yeah, I wanted the boys to be awkward and inexperienced. They are only 14 and 15 after all, and what with the apocalypse, they are really not good at understanding most of the stuff that their instincts are urging them to do. It's their discovery with each other and I can't wait for you to read it and catch up xx haha, confusing times for the boys._

**Carl's POV**

I hate him.  
>I hate him with everything in me. He's a coward. It was never me, or Oliver... It was always Dad. Dad was the coward. He said... he said that there was nothing he could do, that the back door was locked and he would have been caught… he said that when he climbed out of the window and onto the back porch… he could hear. He said that he could hear everything that was happening to him... to Oliver.<br>I thought I knew pain. It's like an old friend, no- a parasite, ever since this whole apocalypse started. It's latched onto my life and drained every last ounce of hope from my being. It's made me watch friends die, get shot, kill my mom, kill strangers... kill friends.  
>But I've never felt pain like this. It rips away at me, tearing into every cell of my anatomy until I feel like I'm not even human anymore, numb against it, hurting so much that I refuse to feel it any longer.<br>Some way down the torturous train track we are following, we find a sign on the side of a big train freight:

"SANCTUARY FOR ALL. COMMUNITY FOR ALL. THOSE WHO ARRIVE, SURVIVE. TERMINUS"

But I don't care. Not right now. Why would I want a sanctuary? There is no such place anymore. The only sanctuary is the people you care about. But I don't even care anymore. Why would I desire sanctuary when the only person that I truly relied on it for it is gone?  
>I can hear Dad and Michonne deciding whether or not we should go. But I don't listen. And a moment later, or an hour, or a day, I don't know, Michonne takes my shoulder. "Come on. Let's go," she says softly.<br>I don't say anything. I just move my legs while my mind continues to numb everything away.  
>Walking is good. Walking is a distraction. I focus solely on each wooden beam that I place my odd shoes on. I can't feel the pressure as I take each step. It's as if I'm not even attached to my own body anymore. No longer a part of myself. Like a walker.<p>

**Oliver's POV**

_I'm talking to Penelope. She's dressed as Juliet for the school play rehearsal, with a green nylon gown on and her ginger hair braided and rolled around her head like a crown._  
>"<em>Ollie," Penelope<em> _says. Penelope_ _used to call me Ollie for short. "C'mon, it's just a kiss. We're best friends, it won't matter. Production value! Correct? We're all terrible actors - maybe if we kiss it'll make that play less awful?"_  
><em>I smirk at her. "Penelope, I would. But Carl's my boyfriend. I'm not sure I should be kissing you," I tell her, bumping her shoulder mockingly.<em>  
><em>She rolls her eyes. "Fine," she shrugs coolly. "Then we'll just have a terrible play."<em>  
><em>I grin at her.<em> _"__It was gonna be terrible anyway. I threw up on you, remember?"_  
><em>Penelope grimaces. "Oh, yeah. You big cheese ball," she grins. "C'mon. Let's go find Sophia."<em>  
><em>I furrow my brow as I take her hand and she pulls me to stand up. "Sophia? Why Sophia?" I ask, confused and disorientated by the jumbled up time-line I seem to be living in right now.<em>  
>"<em>She doesn't have a mean bone in her body," Penelope answers, only it wasn't really the answer to my question I was looking for, and her mouth didn't move when she said it, as if it wasn't ever her saying it at all.<em>  
><em>I look over my shoulder, suddenly feeling like someone is watching us.<em> _But m__y heart leaps to my throat when I think I see the vile monster who-_ _**Don't, Oliver.**_ _I mean, when I think I see__Dan. But his dark figure disappears behind the drama room door before I am sure I saw him._  
><em>I panic for a moment, but then<em> _I_ _force him to the back of my head._ _**He's not there. He's not. You're okay, Oliver.**_  
>"<em>Where is she?" I ask Penelope, going back to our original subject and wondering how we will find a girl that neither of us have ever actually met before.<em>  
>"<em>Terminus," Penelope answers.<em>  
>"<em>What? What the heck is that?"<em>  
><em>Penelope shrugs. "I dunno. Just, Terminus."<em>  
><em>I stop, refusing to keep going when I am so confused. "Penelope... you don't even know who Sophia is. And I've never even met her!" I argue.<em>  
><em>Penelope watches me for a moment, considering my statement as she chews her lip. "Oh, yeah," she says, and then she shrugs, "okay. Fine, let's go and find some pudding." she smiles, reaching forward to grab my hand and then pulling me to keep walking.<em>  
><em>I grin. "Yeah. That sounds good to me."<em>  
><em>She giggles. "You had a whole tin with Carl, and I'm sure you had more than he did. I don't know how you can eat more of that stuff." Penelope teases.<em>  
><em>I don't know what she is talking about! I could eat a house of pudding! "There is never enough pudding," I chuckle, as she continues to lead me through the school grounds. Only, I still feel like we are being watched, and I keep looking over my shoulder to see the figure disappear before I am sure I saw it. But I have to ignore it. If I ignore it, it wont really be there.<em>  
><em>This continues, until I can't bear it any longer. "Penelope. Someone's following us," I whisper.<em>  
>"<em>I know," she says. "He has been for a while."<em>  
><em>I freeze to the spot, causing Penelope to drop my hand. Every muscle tenses in my body and I begin to shake again. "W-why?" I ask frantically, barely a breath.<em>  
>"<em>Oliver..." Penelope turns to me, her expression hard and serious. "He's come to finish what he started."<em>  
><em>My legs knock, and I can feel my spine convulse in terror. "No... No, please..." I beg the air, feeling his presence advance on me. But I can't see him! "Stop! NO DON'T!"<em>  
><em>I flail my arms around me wildly, blindly trying to keep the monster away. But then I feel him smother me in his arms, his disgusting dirty hands groping my body and slamming me to the gravel floor.<em>  
>"<em>Stop your squirmin'," I hear his voice ring in my head.<em>  
><em>I reach out for Penelope. "Help! Please, help me!"<em>  
><em>But Penelope stares at me, looking right through me and my attacker. But then, to my horror, right before my eyes, her skin becomes grey and rotten, falling off of her cheeks and eyebrow in clumps. She suddenly snaps her jaw at me as her eyes lose their green-ness and become glazed over and dead. She's a walker!<em>  
>"<em>No!" I scream at her.<em>  
><em>Dan doesn't stop. Despite Penelope, he continues to molest me, and I scream out in my terror, too afraid of him to react any more to my dead friend, who is crawling towards me. She grabs my shoulders, while Dan sneers at me, pinning down my arms as he shoves his pelvis against me. I try to push them away. I try to scream. But I am being suffocated!<em>  
><em>Penelope lets out an ear splitting shriek, before sinking her black teeth into my temple.<em>

"Oliver!"  
>I yelp and thrash against them, desperately trying to save myself.<br>"Oliver, calm down!"  
>"I have to get the pudding!" I wail. Somehow in my terror and frantic panic, my mind still worries about the fucking pudding; too afraid of the immediate danger and so I simply pretend it is not there. Some coping mechanism.<br>Someone holds my stomach and forehead down, and I am so terrified it's going to be Dan that I can't bear to open my eyes to look. So I just keep screaming. "I need the pudding! Let go! I need to find the pudding!" _If I find the pudding, I can find Carl. I can be with him. How dare this monster keep me here? How dare he stop me from being with the boy I love?!_ "Get off! Don't! Let me find him! Let me find the pudding!"  
>Someone giggles.<br>"Mika, don't laugh! He's delirious!" I hear a man's voice. But I know it isn't Dan. But... I recognise the voice, and it sends every inch of my mind reeling with familiarity. Good familiarity. My eyes snap open, and I struggle to focus, until finally, I see the blurry figure of Tyreese...  
>I freeze, keeping my eyes on him, too afraid to look away. <em>I'm dead? Oh shit. I'm really dead aren't I?<em> _**Or he's come back from the dead to haunt you as you die.**_  
>"Oliver? Oliver, it's me," he speaks again, only I really can hear him. He's not just in my mind.<br>I try to say his name, but as it forms in my throat I begin coughing violently. He lets go of me as I heave, rolling onto my front to clear my stinging airways. Confused, head spinning and whole body shaking, I force myself to settle and look at him again.  
>"Mr Williams?" I croak, coughing again.<br>He stares at me and nods shakily. "It's okay. We're here. Your safe now, everything's gonna be alright. Everyone is-" he begins. Only, I wheel my head round to see the 'we' and the 'everyone' he was talking about, clasping my hands to my mouth as my eyes fall upon the two siblings.  
>Their matted, blond braids and almost shaking with excitement as they beam at me. I launch myself at them before Tyreese finishes, wrapping my arms around their shoulders and pulling them into a messy bear hug, gasping into their shoulders from the pain. But I ignore it because the pain is worth their embrace.<br>"Oof!" Lizzie grunts a giggle and hugs me back with her sister.  
>"You're alive!" I cough and cry and laugh and sob all at the same time. Terrified, relieved, mortified, traumatised, overjoyed... so overwhelmed that I don't know what emotion to react with first.<br>I pull away, sobbing like an idiot as I look at the two of them. "Y-y-you've gr-grown," I hiccup, saying the first thing I think of even though I saw them only 5 days ago. I wheeze a little, so Mika hands me my inhaler which was clasped in her little hand. "Thanks," I say and then take a puff.  
>They both grin at me. "Oliver, you're okay!" Mika exclaims, watching excitedly as I stuff my inhaler back into my pocket. I nod, wiping another few tears.<br>"We thought you were gonna die for sure! But Carol and Tyreese saved you," Lizzie smiles, glancing excitedly behind me.  
>My expression drops, or widens, I'm not exactly sure which. My mind reels with a thousand questions that all fight to be asked first. But only one question sticks out the most; did I hear Mika correctly just then? <em>Did she say Carol?<em> But the throbbing returns to my temple as my mind spins for an explanation, well, it gets worse at least, because the pain seems to just always be there now-a-days. I wince and turn away a little. But that is when I see her...  
>The pain disappears as a wave of adrenaline and relief swallows me up. "Carol!" I cry, saying her real name out loud for the first time. But I need to make sure I am not hallucinating. "Oh my go-" only, I don't finish, because that's when I slap my hands to my mouth to stop my sob as I see the baby in her arms.<p>

Judith.

I am almost sure that I am dead now. But the constant throb through my whole body reminds me that I can't be.  
>Slowly, as if I am making sure that the two souls don't disappear before my eyes, I move closer and reach out to them, my breath hitching and heart racing against my chest.<br>Carol's brow arches and she pulls me into a tight hug and I wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly.  
>I hear the beautiful sound of crying as Judith wakes from the pressure covering her. I never thought I would be so overjoyed to hear a baby cry. It's not the crying I'm happy about though. It's just that she really is crying, because that proves that she is real. That proves that she is alive.<br>I lean away slightly to let Judith breath, and in my overwhelming joy and relief, I raise my hand to the back of Carol's neck, pressing my forehead to hers as tears roll down our faces. "I thought you were dead. I thought a-all of you w-were," I sob.  
>She hiccups and smiles at me. "I know. I'm so glad you're okay," she whispers softly, hiccuping again. I nod, too overwhelmed to reply, but I don't need to, Carol understands without me needing to explain how grateful I am to be with them again. She leans up a little. "Here," she says quietly, motioning me to hold Judith.<br>I sit back, wiping my face and Carol hands the child over to me.  
>I hold her tiny, delicate form in my arms andmy hands shake, afraid that I will drop her. But I keep hold of Judith, hugging her to me and stroking her fine hair away from her forehead until she stops crying and begins to settle into me. <em>"It's not rocket science, doofus,"<em> Carl said once, his relaxed, beloved voice floating in my mind on a memory... but it hurts to hear him. It hurts to hold his sister when we were so sure she had died. It hurts that he missed her so much, and it's me that finds her.  
>I begin crying again.<br>My tears drip onto the innocent child's cheek and I wipe it away for her with shaking hands. "S-sorry, Judy," I apologise quietly.  
>She stares at me, her pure and beautiful baby orbs staring right at into my eyes, almost as if she understands my sorrow, silently comforting me with her honest and uncorrupted soul.<br>My body begins racking with my crying, overcome with a terrible sadness for Carl and Rick and Michonne, knowing that they are all dead. The gun shot. The screaming. I know that Rick was found. And I know that Carl and Michonne would have gone back, oblivious, as they walked right into those men. Dying just like I would have. I should never have left. I should have stayed and tried to help, or died trying. The guilt eats me up, until I can't bear it.  
>My crying becomes too intense, too hysterical, so Carol gently takes Judith from me and hands the confused child over to Tyreese, before wrapping her arms around my shoulders and hugging me again. Pressure builds in my mind, dread, sorrow, fear, too much for me to handle, so I just keep crying. I can't stop.<br>I cry for hours, burying my face into my hands and the soil as Carol tries to comfort me. She and Tyreese try to find out why, but I cry harder when I try to tell them. I cry for so long that Carol is forced to let go of me and leave me to cry myself out alone. I cry until I am raw. I cry until I am more than empty, and my sobs become dry and hollow and gut wrenching. And eventually, the terrible exhaustion overtakes me and I finally fall unconscious. Giving into my own torture.

Notes

Just so ya'll know, Oliver was dreaming about Sophia and Terminus because he could overhear Lizzie and Carol's conversation.

Side note - I find it funny that Carol, Lizzie and Mika would have had to put up with both Oliver and Tyreese having bad dreams in that scene. Haha

Also, don't worry about Carl. He won't be so sorry for himself and OOC in the next chapters, he's just really devastated at the moment, but he'll pull his finger out and bury his emotions soon, just like The Carl we all know and love and worry about.

The chapters to follow will be a lot shorter, 3,000 - 7,000 words instead of the odd 9,000 it's been lately haha. Hopefully it will be less of a strain to read for ya'll! X

Happy reading xx :_)_


	21. Chapter 21 It Fucking Survived?

**Eli **Thank you, amazingness! Love your support! SO MUCH!

**Oliver's POV**

I wake early, when the sun is only just sparkling it's pink, orange shine through the edge of the tree line. Too bright and cheerful for my mood.  
>I scratch the sleep and dried tears fro my eyes, and then sit up, shivering from the morning chill and wincing badly as my head spins. I fear I will hurl, but after a moment the nausea settles and I am able to focus on my aching body again.<br>I stretch my arms, suddenly gasping as my abdomen and spine throb. So I drop my hand and lift my top and shirt to see the torn flesh across my abdomen. I can feel my face contort in hatred and sadness and tears threaten to spill from my eyes. I drop my clothes and draw my knees up to my chest, ignoring the throb through my body as I wrap my arms around my legs and bore my eyes into my knee caps.  
>I startle when I feel a light pressure on my shoulder, flinching and almost leaping away in terror. But my eyes meet sky blue, recognising them to belong to Lizzie immediately. I relax a little, swivelling around a little to face her. "Oh, Lizzie," I croak, wincing as my voice stings my sore airways.<br>"Morning," she smiles for a moment, before straightening her face and pushing her lips out into a sort of pucker, chewing the inside of them like she so often does, "Are ya still hurtin'?"  
><em>Yes, Lizzie. I am hurting. In too many ways to comprehend or even begin to explain.<em> I just nod, choosing to stay quiet because I'm afraid even my voice again will hurt.  
>Lizzie spins around on her knees, reaching behind her to Carol and tapping her on her shoulder to wake her. The woman's eyes flicker open and she sits up to look at the Lizzie. "What is it sweetie?" she asks her, blinking away her sleepiness.<br>Lizzie motions her head to me, her fondness for me causing her to innocently mimic my silence.  
>Carol looks at me, reaching forward to put her hand on my shoulder, but I recoil without meaning to, flinching away from her touch. Carol drops her arm, furrowing her brow in concern for my fearful behaviour. <strong><em>Oliver... Carol didn't do anything<em>** **_to you, nor will she ever do anything. You know that._** _Yeah... I do know that._I force myself to ease up, offering something I think is a smile to the two females.  
>Carol smiles comfortingly. "Oliver…" she begins, but hesitates. And I know she wants to ask what happened to me, but I give her no sign of confirmation that I want her to continue, hoping that she takes the hint. But she doesn't, or she ignores it maybe. "What happened t-" but she finally stops when I look away from her, picking furiously at the soil by my knees.<br>Carol pauses, glancing worriedly at Lizzie before looking back to me and forcing a smile. "How, uh, how's your head?" she changes the subject.  
>I nod, leaving the dirt alone and looking at her. "I'm not sure, Ma'am, it's been pretty sore," I answer, trusting my voice again as I see her gentle familiar expression.<br>Carol nods, grateful for my cooperation. "Okay… Your asthma attack settled after a few minutes of you being unconscious… and then Ty an' I had a look at your wounds while you were out. You finally woke up a couple hours later." I can see that she is trying hard not to ask what happened to me. "We cleaned your wounds as best we could. But the bandage on your temple was too dirty to reuse, and we don't have anything else," she says.  
>I am about to ask what happened to the bandage on my abdomen, but the horrible flashback of Dan ripping it off of my body violates my mind. I grimace and cough and wince at the same time. Carol watches me wearily, so I relax my face and speak before she asks anything else. "You don't happen to have more inhalers on you do you? This is my last one," I say, patting my pocket.<br>Carol shakes her head. "Sorry," she says. "But we'll find a drug store or somewhere soon, get you some more. But in the mean time, try to use as little as possible. You think you can do that?"  
>I nod, pausing a moment, wondering if I should ask what is nagging at the back of my mind. "Ma'am... What happened to you?" I ask, chewing my lip. "After the run… you never came back with R-... Mr Grimes." I almost call him Rick... but I don't deserve to anymore.<br>Carol suddenly looks almost as uncomfortable as I did, but she relaxes her face again and lets the corners of her mouth curl slightly into a sympathetic smile. "Rick an' I found another car that day. I stayed behind to look for more supplies, while he went back with what we'd found. I got back later the next day... but... everything happened… it... I was too late. Everything was destroyed... you were all gone," she says softly.  
>I suddenly perk up. "Your car. Is it around? We could use it to find ev-" I wanted to say find everyone faster or something, but Carol shakes her head. I furrow my brow. "What? Why?"<br>"I had to leave the car - ran out o' gas."  
>"How'd you find Mr Williams. and Lizzie and Mika?"<br>Carol shrugs slightly. "Ran into 'em in the woods a couple miles South from The Prison. A man, who got bit, told us to follow the tracks - that there's a sanctuary at the end of it. We saw some signs, so that's where we're headed," she says.  
>"Termite... uh, Thermus?" I try to remember what Penelope had said to me in my nightmare. For some reason it's the first thing that pops into my head as Carol explains.<br>"Terminus," she corrects me. "Did you hear me and Lizzie last night?"  
>I nod. "I guess." I pause. "How long have you been following the tracks?"<br>"Few days… maybe more. I'm not sure. We were about to stop an' rest yesterday evenin' - before we saw you runnin' towards us. Mika thought you were a walker... I did too," Carol tries to joke, glancing to Lizzie. But no one laughs.  
>Carol turns to me again, arching her brow. "Have you been taking anything for your wounds?" she asks dubiously.<br>I nod.  
>"Good," Carol sighs with relief, slapping her palms to her thighs and glancing at Lizzie. "Sweetie, you wanna help me find some tree sap for Oliver?"<br>Lizzie nods.  
>I grimace a little. "Why?"<br>Carol smiles at me as she stands up, brushing herself off. "It'll help fight any infection."  
>"Oh. Thanks," I nod gratefully and watch the two head off across the tracks and up into the woods in front of me.<br>I glance to my right, seeing Tyreese curled up on the tracks with Mika's small form huddled close behind him so that their spines are pressed together for warmth. I see Judith, wrapped in her travel sack under Mika's arm. I shuffle over, suddenly itching to hold Judith again, overwhelmed with relief to see her alive. The movement makes me wince as I set myself next to Mika and then tap her shoulder.  
>She sways on her side, opening her eyes and looking up at me. "Mornin', Oliver," she mumbles sleepily, her arm closing around Judith's tiny form a little more and pulling her closer.<br>"Do you want me to take her off your hands for a while?" I ask, motioning to the sleeping infant.  
>Mika nods. "Uh huh," she agrees, lifting her arm sleepily, "here."<br>I lean over and gently lift the baby from the ground, cradling her in my arms as she mumbles sleepily to herself. I sit back, gently rocking her to sleep again, and after a moment she settles and snuggles into the fabric of the blanket, her warmth spreading through it and somehow soothing the aching throb through my body.  
>I can feel the lump in my throat but I force it to go away, swallowing hard as I watch the sleeping baby, protectively making sure I have a secure hold around her.<br>Tyreese begins mumbling in his sleep, waking Mika up again. She sits up and watches him worriedly, before turning to me. "Should we wake 'im?" she asks.  
>I think of my nightmare last night and how terrified I was. I nod. "Yeah... Yeah, you should."<br>Mika purses her lips and nods, then turns to Tyreese and gently taps his shoulder. But his mumbling becomes worse, subconsciously startled by her.  
>"Mr Williams?" I try to get his attention, but he doesn't wake. "Shake him a little," I suggest, motioning to him. Mika nods and does as I say, grabbing his shoulders and gently rocking him awake.<br>Tyreese sits bolt upright, gasping and wide eyed. "Karen!?" he yelps, searching wildly around him. Until his gaze meets me and Mika and he forces his shaking body to relax.  
>"It's just us," Mika whispers shakily. "Are you okay? I'm sorry for waking you."<br>"It's all right, honey," Tyreese sighs. "Sorry. Jus' a bad dream," he mumbles, wiping the beads of sweat that run down his face and soak into his beanie hat.  
>I lift my free hand from Judy and pat the top of my own head, amazed to find that throughout everything that I have been through my beanie is still perched on the top of my head, covering my matted, dirt and sweat coated hair beneath it. <strong><em>Oh my god. It fucking survived!? Goddamn it.<em>**_Shut up!_  
>A few moments pass in quiet. But it's not an awkward or uncomfortable silence. It's the kind of silence that you can have with people you care about. The kind of silence that you all just embrace and appreciate, using it to make the most of each others company where no voice is needed to keep things complacent.<br>Carol and Lizzie return. Carol hesitates to treat Tyreese first now that he is awake. But I can see that he has a fever and needs the care more than me right now, so I nod in encouragement for her to go ahead. She smiles gratefully and walks the few meters over to him and continues to treat his wound.  
>"Hurts right?" Carol asks him as the man struggles to hold back his wince.<br>"Oh yeah," Tyreese says, watching her spread the sap over his wound, furrowing his brow in concentration. "It hurts."  
>"This'll fight the infection. Might even bring down your fever," Carol comforts him.<br>There is a short pause as Carol wraps Tyreese's wound with the reused bandage he was wearing before. Mika sits a few meters to my left, picking at the weeds that stick out from the tracks. I watch Lizzie pace up and down a few steps away from her sister, keeping watch for us with her hand on the knife. I suddenly remember my own machete, and almost reach behind me to touch it. But I remember that both my sheath and my machete aren't on my back anymore, neither is it wedged between my belt and jeans.  
>I thumb a part of the leather material over the left side of my hip, feeling the frayed slices from the missing blade that has collected there on the belt; the place that I have repeatedly pulled and slid my weapon to and from over the last year and a half.<br>I realise that the belt is only just holding around my waist, with less than a cementer of leather holding the sliced material together. I unbuckle the belt and pull it off, dropping it on the tracks beside me. I don't really need the belt anyway, it was only there to hold my machete. But Len 'claimed' it... so I won't be getting it back again.  
>"What d'ya think... three days out? Four days?" Tyreese asks Carol.<br>"We haven't seen any of those maps at the crossings... so, I'm not sure."  
>"Until Terminus?" I ask.<br>Tyreese leans back slightly to look at me behind Carol. "Yeah," he nods.  
>"Uh, well. It's been six days since The Prison. If that helps," I give my input, my useless obsession with date and time getting the better of me.<br>Carol glances at me, smiling slightly. "Yeah, I should think about four days left then... hmm?" she regards Tyreese.  
>Tyreese agrees with a nod as Carol finishes bandaging him up. They begin talking about the girls, so I tug at my beanie a little and focus on Judith, not wanting to eves-drop.<br>"Is she hungry?" Mika asks me.  
>"She will be when she wakes up, but for now she should be all right," I answer, gently rocking the sleeping baby in my arms.<br>Carol stands from the track. "Jus' getting some more sap for you," she says to me, wiping her knife clean for me and heading back towards the tree on the bank ahead of us.  
>I nod in thanks, watching as she harvests the natural remedy. I bob Judith in my arms, comforted by the quiet sound of her breathing. I'd call it snoring, but it's too delicate and adorable to have such a name, it's more like a purr really. Regardless, it seems to be the only thing that can make the corner of my mouth curl a little.<br>Carol returns holding out her knife to me and I see the sticky brown syrup spread along the blade. She kneels down, twisting the blade so that the sap doesn't drip off. "Lean forward, please?" she asks politely.  
>I carefully hand Judith over to Lizzie, who cradles the infant in her arms and sits beside me as Mika goes to keep watch. I do as Carol said, tilting my head and leaning towards her. Carol gently wipes the sap over my cut temple and I flinch from the sharp sting. "Ah," I gasp.<br>Carol flinches too. "Sorry. But it'll help get rid of the last traces of your infection - keep the swelling down too," she says gently, finishing up. "Okay, now just leave it like that. It's the best we've got."  
>I lean up again pursing my lips in thanks and Carol motions to my stomach. "Can you lift your shirt?" she asks.<br>I hesitate, not wanting her to see the horrible injuries. But I realise that Carol saw my wounds last night already, so I nod and pull the hem of my shirt and top up to my chest. I don't look, seeing it once already is enough. But Lizzie gasps quietly as she stares wildly at my torn skin. I'm guessing that she didn't see Carol or Tyreese looking me over last night and that this is the first time she has seen my wounds.  
>"Lizzie. Don't look. Go and sit with Mika," Carol commands, thinking that Lizzie is disturbed. But in truth, she looks more fascinated than anything.<br>"But..." Lizzie protests, tilting her head to get a better look at my wound. "I wanna see... I... I-I can help."  
>But Carol shoots her a look. "Lizzie," she warns, in that intimidating, yet gentle motherly tone that I recognise from Story Time, when some of the kids would goof around while she taught or read. "You don't wanna see this."<br>"Alright," Lizzie relents, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes and standing up, before rather reluctantly going to sit nearer her sister.  
>Carol looks back to me, smiling dismissively towards Lizzie's behaviour. She reaches forward to my abdomen. "Okay. This is gonna hurt a little more than your head since it's an open gash," she says. I grimace, silently cursing Dan for tearing it open again, as the wound was healing well before he... 'claimed' me. "I mean, cut... it's not really that bad," she tries to take back her previous statement to comfort me, pulling me from my intrusive thoughts.<br>I cock an eyebrow at her, giving her an 'I don't need your pity' look, because I don't want her comfort right now, just her hospitalization. Carol purses her lips empathetically. "Sorry. I know you're not a child... You ready?" she asks.  
>"Yeah," I grit my teeth and nod. "Let's get it over with."<br>Carol spreads the sap over my wound and I hiss through my teeth, but force myself to stay still as she treats it. "There," she mumbles, before helping to pull my clothing back over it, and I wince as the fabric sticks to the sap, tugging at it whenever I move. "I know it's uncomfortable. But it'll have to do until we find somewhere with bandages – maybe a store, or house."  
>I nod. "I'll be fine," I say, hoping that what I say is true.<p>

_~ Later ~_

"Does _Tom Sawyer_ have a happy ending?" Mika chirps. "We never got to finish it."  
>"Well..." Carol begins, turning to Mika as we all walk down the train tracks. I hold Lizzie's hand. She was holding Mika's, but when the Younger Samuel Sister left to talk to Carol, Lizzie almost immediately went for my hand, craving that little bit of comfort from someone. I don't blame her, this has all got to be so tough on a child. "Tom an' Huck... they, uh, stop Injun Jones an' his partner an' wind up getting all 'is gold."<br>"So they wind up rich?!" Mika grins, impressed.  
>"Mm hmm," Carol confirms, thumbing the straps of the baby carrier that Judith is still comfortably wedged inside of, "and The Widow Douglas adopts Huck."<br>"Like you adopted us?" Mika says proudly.  
>Carol glances at her, grinning. "Yeah," she says, "jus' like The Widow Douglas."<br>"And I'm Huck Finn."  
>"I think you're more like, Tom Sawyer," Lizzie disagrees, smiling at her sister.<br>Mika looks back at Lizzie as we walk. "Yeah. You're right," she says. "You're not even grossed out by dead rabbits."  
>I furrow my brow, and notice Lizzie shoot her little sister a glare, before glancing at me nervously. I am about to ask what Mika was talking about, but Lizzie smiles at me and throws her head to one side to flick her hair out of her eyes, before looking away and continuing walking, slightly tightening her grasp on my hand to make me keep walking. I take the hint, and keep my mouth shut. It's probably nothing. I mean, it'd be kind of useless to be disturbed by dead things now anyway, so not being 'grossed out' by death is probably useful.<br>"Forgot you used to read to 'em," Tyreese says.  
>Carol glances back at him briefly. "I did."<br>I am about to thank Carol for her story time lessons, as they have pretty much saved my life over the last week; shooting the walkers that breeched the fences, knowing if the grapes in the suburb were edible for me and Carl. But that thought alone sends me into saddened silence. I push the memories out of my mind before they make me break more than I already have, focusing on counting along the wooden beams as I walk, ignoring the pain deep in my chest, and everywhere else on my body.

Notes

Don't forget to review, follow and favorite xxx thanks!


	22. Chapter 22 The Grove

**Eli-XD-O **Thank you, and btw, I checked you profile and I love your stories! You better be updating **The Aftermath **soon!

**mks 12 98 **Haha, he is a strange character, Oliver De Luca. His beanie and pudding are always in his mind somewhere haha

**Oliver's POV**

We came across a Terminus sign a few miles back, we should be about 4 days away now. But the slogan... it's stuck in my head for some reason... It's almost familiar... I rack my frazzled mind for where I have heard it before, until I suddenly stop in my tracks and gasp without meaning to.  
>Mika and Lizzie both jolt to a stop, as I was holding both of their hands. I think I have just about become the main babysitter of our group now. I don't mind that at all though. I'm just glad that there are still children alive in the world right now. Carol has Judith strapped to her back in her baby carrier, I offered to carry her, but Carol said that I'm not strong enough yet.<br>"What is it?" Mika asks, frowning in confusion at my sudden refusal to walk.  
>"I've heard the Terminus slogan before," I get out. Both Tyreese and Carol stop and look at me in confusion, so I elaborate. "Back at The Prison. I heard it on a radio. But it had bad signal so I didn't recognise it right away. 'Sanctuary for all. Community of all. Those who arrive, survive. Terminus'... but that was ages ago... almost 3 months, I was with-" I stop, unable to say his name. But Tyreese speaks anyway.<br>"No, I heard it too. Only last week on the medical run," he says.  
>I furrow my brow in doubt. "How do we know that it's not been overrun?" I ask.<br>"Well, we don't know for sure. But if they were broadcasting only last week they have electricity... they must've been doing okay for themselves at the time, right?" Carol says optimistically.  
>I shake my head slightly. "I can't say... it was on a loop. The woman's voice said the same things in the same tone. Either it was a record playing or she is just really good at her job," I try to joke, but no one is really in a joking mood right now, including me.<br>Carol shrugs, offering a comforting smile. "It's all we have."

_~ A Few Hours Later ~_

All I can hear is the chirping of birds and ticking of insects, I would have said that it is quiet in another life, but now it is almost deafening. The sun shine flickers through the leaves in the trees beside the track and I squint from the flashing beam. It's warm, despite it being the middle of Winter. **_Good old Georgian weather, ay?_** _It's cold at night though, so pretty soon we might get snow, eventually, maybe._ **_Oliver, that's no longer good news to us though._** _Oh, right. Yeah. The cold is deadly now, huh?_ **_Yeah... it is.  
><em>**My thoughts cut off however as I smell something like burning barbecue... or burning meat... no... burning people. I grimace and I see that both Mika and Lizzie have done the same, too.  
>"D'you smell that?" Carol asks, concerned.<br>"Burning?" I kind of ask, hoping that I am wrong as I turn around a little to look and grateful that such a movement doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would.  
>"Yeah," Tyreese looks towards the top of the tree line, searching for the smoke. "There's a fire somewhere."<br>"Must be a big one," Carol says, turning to search on a wider spectrum. "It isn't anywhere around here."  
>I look too, finding no visible smoke or hearing any crackling of a fire anywhere. "Do... do you think it was made by anyone we know?" I almost don't ask, but my curiosity gets the better of me.<br>Carol gives me a doubtful look. "If it is they wouldn't have stuck around to wait for walkers to show up," she says.  
>I nod.<br>"We should stop here," Carol slows and motions towards the tree line. "We need to find more water."  
>"I can do it," Tyreese tries, but even I can see that he is panting from exhaustion even though we have barely been walking for three hours, which isn't all that much given the circumstances.<br>"No," Carol insists. "You need to rest your arm." She sees me as I let go of the girls hands, about to offer to help her. But she turns to me, raising her hand to tell me to stop. "You too, Oliver. Your wounds aren't gonna heal lugging more weight around than you need to. Mika will help me."  
>Both sisters look around, surprised that Carol would choose Mika instead of Lizzie, since we all can guess that Lizzie is stronger. But no one argues with The Woman.<br>I purse my lips in defeat and follow the others off of the tracks a little, leaving our belongings on the ground in a neat pile. I sit down beside Lizzie as Carol hands me Judith. Tyreese helps unpack a few containers for Mika and Carol, before coming and setting himself on the log to my right.  
>"See you in a little while," Carol says. "If we get separated we'll meet at the next crossing or bridge. All right?"<br>We all nod, and watch Carol and Mika leave.

We sit in silence for a long moment and Lizzie begins swaying her legs in slow motion, humming a made up tune into her palms which she has spread across her face as she rests it in them. She's bored.  
>"You wanna play <em>Eye Spy?<em>" I offer, sensing that she is desperate for some kind of mental stimulation other than what waiting has to offer.  
>She stops swaying and looks at me. "Yeah," she nods happily, dropping her hands.<br>"Okay. You go first," I nudge her knee with mine, glancing at Tyreese as he smiles at us.  
>For some reason, Lizzie closes her eyes though. "I spy..." She says, opening her eyes again and searching around her, looking disappointed when she doesn't see what she is looking for. "Trees and weeds," she finalises.<br>I think I will burst out laughing, but my smile still evades my lips and all that comes out is a quiet scoff.  
>Lizzie glances back at me, smirking at my befuddled reaction. "What?"<br>"Uh... Lizzie. That's not how you play," I break to her gently.  
>"Oh," she grimaces in confusion. "Then how?"<br>"Well, I always played it by picking the first letter of what I'd spied... you know? 'S' for 'sky' or whatev-" but I stop my sentence as I see something moving a few hundred yards behind Lizzie. I tilt my head to look beyond her and my eyes widen when I make out the clumsy figure of a walker, dawdling our way. It had been following us I presume - smelling our scent, or maybe hearing our hushed talking along the tracks.  
>"Walker," I mutter, and as soon as I say it I can feel the tension intensify as Tyreese and Lizzie are both sent of red alert. I motion with my head towards it, holding Judith closer to me.<br>Tyreese stands up and goes to the track. I almost follow, but I realise I can't do that while I hold Judith because it will be too dangerous. Lizzie notices my hesitance and tries to follow Tyreese too, but I grab her arm gently and stop her, pulling her to sit back down.  
>"It's okay. Ty's got it," I say. Tyreese had told me a few miles back that I could call him by his first name. I had guessed at some point he would.<br>"You stay here," Tyreese says to her, exchanging a glance of the same message to me.  
>Lizzie purses her lips worriedly and I nod.<br>"He'll be okay. Promise," I try to comfort her, as Tyreese begins to march towards the walker.  
>But Lizzie shakes her head frantically. "No. It's not that. He-..." she hesitates, glancing desperately at Tyreese and then back to me again.<br>"What's wrong then?" I ask, completely confused by what is bothering her if it isn't Tyreese's safety.  
>But Lizzie is unable to help herself. She stands up before I can stop her and jogs after Tyreese. As quickly as I can, I rush after her, holding Judith to my chest. "Lizzie, stop!" I bark quietly after her. But she doesn't listen.<br>Judith fusses, confused by such fast movements so suddenly, but I coo in her ear as best I can as I run after Lizzie.  
>"Lizzie!" I hiss again. "Lizzie, stop a minute." I hold back my curse.<br>But Lizzie is with Tyreese already now. "Tyreese!" she exclaims.  
>Tyreese stops just as he is about to swing his hammer at the walker's skull, turning to look at me and Lizzie and dropping his weapon to his side.<br>I see the walker; it has fallen into a rabbit hole made in the middle of the track. It has taken a nasty spill, crushing its leg between the iron and wood. It's radius bone has snapped and is sticking out at an unnatural angle. It growls at us, feral looking and as awful as walkers come.  
>I grimace and look at Tyreese again. "I'm sorry. I... I didn't mean for-" I try to apologise for letting Lizzie run off like she did, but she interrupts me before I figure out how to put my apology into a sentence.<br>"Sometimes we have to kill them. I know that. But sometimes we don't."  
>Tyreese and I stare for a long time, glancing to and from the walker and Lizzie. <em>It's rabid. It's dead. Why is she protecting it?<em> **_At least she actually still cares._** _But I think her priorities of things to care about are a little jumbled._ **_Maybe not though. I mean, they were people once you know._** _Yeah – once. Not any more.  
><em>Eventually, Tyreese softens his face and takes Lizzie's shoulder. "C'mon, Lizzie," he mumbles, ignoring the growling of the walker stuck in the wooden planks of the tracks and leading the way back to our things.  
>Lizzie smiles, proud of herself for 'convincing' him to leave the walker alone. She takes my hand, while I try to coo Judith to get her to settle again as she's been spooked a little from the hissing of the walker. But still, she is pretty undeterred by it. I guess she has to be to survive this world now though.<br>We get back to our pile of things, only this time I stay stood up. I hand Judith to Lizzie as she sits down on the log, before stepping towards the track to keep watch. With that walker only a few hundred yards away, I don't think any type of exhaustion would get me to sit down right now.  
>I watch the tracks both ways, but my eyes trail back to the walker over and over again, expecting it to have managed to escape and run for our fresh meat every time. But it stays where it is, and soon, I hear Carol and Mika returning. They sound excited about something.<br>Mika crashes through the brush to us, almost falling into Tyreese's arms with Carol right behind, although a little more composed. I startle, thinking that they are being chased so I rush over to them, readying myself for a herd of walkers to stampede towards us. And feeling helpless when I realise that I have no weapon to defend us with.  
>"Calm down, Mika. It's not goin' anywhere," Carol says.<br>"What? What's not going anywhere?" I ask, confused and still thinking that Mika was running away from something.  
>"We found a grave!" Mika exclaims.<br>My eye brows furrow into a disturbed frown, unbearably confused now. "What?"  
>"No, a <em>Grove<em>. Not grave," Carol corrects the child. "Mika, you gotta listen a little closer."  
>I feel my shoulders relax and I let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, right..." I sigh with relief, "jesus, I thought..." but I don't really need to say what I thought, so I stop my sentence and change it, "um, where is it?"<br>Carol motions back into the woods, but Mika takes the words from her mouth. "Back there. A few minutes off the track. It's got a fence an' a big cottage an' a pond an' a well an' a shack an' a-"  
>"All right, Mika," Carol calms the hyperventilating child, placing a hand on her little shoulder to get her to settle.<br>I almost laugh, but again, it doesn't come out and my smile doesn't want to form. I wonder for a moment if I will ever laugh again. But I realise that it isn't important right now, so I focus on Carol again. "The water? From the well and pond... is it okay to drink?" I ask, as we gather our things.  
>Carol shrugs and nods. "Think so. If we boil it. It should be fine," she answers, taking Judith from Lizzie and fitting the baby into her travel sack.<br>"Well, c'mon. Lets go!" Mika insists impatiently.  
>Carol chuckles, carefully placing Judith on her back before taking Mika's hand and following the child as she excitedly leads us to this 'Grove' she is so excited about.<br>Along the way, Carol suddenly shushes us all. I freeze, thinking that she has heard a walker, or those 'Claimers' have somehow found us and are waiting beyond the brush to grab us and murder us. My heart pounds and blood rushes through my ears in time with my heart beat.

But it's a deer.

It gracefully steps out of the small bit of cover behind a tree and stops right in front of us. Just a few steps and I could touch its nose. But we all stay where we are. Tyreese or Carol could shoot it for food, but I know that they won't. There is something about this moment. Almost like it's more of a welcome. I'm not sure. But whatever it is it's not something to be destroyed.  
>The fallen, orange and brown leaves roll across the earth in the breeze as the deer watches us, it's big black eyes examining each of our flustered faces. But we don't growl or limp or bite, so eventually, the deer realises we aren't a threat and continues chewing the grass it had in its mouth and then turns away from us, continuing into the woods.<br>I think of the deer Carl saw when he got shot. How peaceful he felt and how beautiful he thought it was. I wonder for a moment if he had sent it, the deer I mean. Telling me that everything will be all right soon and there is still hope left in the world... But I shake my head clear of such a dumb and unrealistic cliché and I quickly wipe my eyes dry before anyone notices me crying.  
>"C'mon," I say nonchalantly and glad that my voice didn't crack, gently squeezing Lizzie's hand and motioning for us to move on.<br>A moment later, we come to a clearing. I only think it is a small one at first, but as we walk the clearing seems to grow. A small shack appears, and then a pond, and then, as if it had grown from the very soil itself, sprouting from the earth and growing beautiful and perfect like a flower, a house emerges from the tree cover.  
>My mouth falls open. "Oh, whoa..."<br>It's The Grove. And it's perfect, as if it was made just for us.

"What'd'ya think?" Carol gestures to the property proudly, smiling.  
>I nod at her, wide eyed. "It's perfect."<br>"What are these?" Mika asks a moment later, stopping and crouching down to grab some kind of nut from the floor.  
>I look around, noticing that the strange nuts are everywhere. "Pecans?" I remember the nuts from Carol's lessons.<br>"Yep," Carol informs, smiling at my intrigue as well as Mika's.  
>"Ooh! I love pecans!" Mika giggles, collecting a handful.<br>"You know maybe we could catch our breath here for a while?" Carol proposes, opening the make shift fence for us to enter the main lot.  
>"We're still going to Terminus, right?" Lizzie asks the question I was about to ask.<br>Carol glances at her and nods yes. "Jus' stay a day or two," she says. "There's a well full o' water... uh... well, the fences, they're not big but they're something. We saw a deer - they eat pecans. We should be able to kill one to eat."  
>"We can eat these, too, right?" Mika asks innocently, motioning to the pecans in her hand.<br>"You could eat your fill an 'en sell 'em," Tyreese jokes.  
>"I'll be the first customer," I glance at Mika, unable to help myself from getting in on the banter. "but I'm not paying more than a few bucks."<br>Mika chuckles at me, nudging my arm with her pecan-less hand. "A buck fifty," she jokes.  
>I let myself smile a little, and it feels good on my cheeks and welcoming to my curving lips. "All right. Deal."<br>"Look!"  
>Mine and everyone else's smile drops at Lizzie's yell and we spin around to look at what she has seen.<br>Smoke. Dark smoke, rising up to the sky from a few miles away by the looks of it.  
>"Bet that's what we were smelling," Carol examines the narrow, gloomy cloud. "Looks far enough away."<br>"Wonder how it started," Mika says, squinting as she stares at it.  
>"Maybe lightnin'... maybe a camp fire" Tyreese says. He turns and motions to the fence we had just entered the lot through. "I can patch that fence."<br>Carol follows after him, walking backwards to talk to all of us. "Probably where the deer're comin' from," she protests, not wanting to lose any that wander into The Grove. "We should leave it, an' just play it really safe in here."  
>I hesitate to go to the house, suddenly feeling like we should go back to the tracks and keep going. But Lizzie takes my hand, snapping the sense back into me. I hold my other hand out for Mika and she takes it gladly.<br>"It'll be good to spend the next few days here. Let you and Ty heal again?" Carol says.  
>"Yeah," Tyreese agrees. "Sounds good to me."<br>Carol looks at me for my input and I almost say yes without thinking about it. But that hesitation is still nagging at the back of my head. Telling me to stay on the track... that they're not far ahead... just a day or so more and we could catch up with them and be with them again... and I can be with him again... But I ignore it. Because it's stupid and untrue... it's wishful thinking. And wishful thinking is useless and will only get us killed.

"Yes, Ma'am," I answer Carol. "Sounds like a good idea."

**Notes**

Again, no Carl? I'm so sorry, but he'll be back soon. I promise! And I'm sorry if I am being totally obnoxious by leaving the guy you all are reading this because of, out of the story for so long, I know it is incredibly rude of me. But he will be back soon, I swear x

Hope ya'll enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a little review on your way out to tell me of your thoughts :) helps me a lot! :D

Favourite part(s)?  
>Worst part(s)?<br>Helpful criticism is truly appreciated :D

Preview: I'm sorry, but Carl won't be back. But he will be in the chapter after! Please don't give up on Oliver yet :) In the next chappy, we will see how Oliver deals with the next few scenes of the episode. Lizzie's troubles are beginning to get a little more noticeable, and Oliver has some explaining to do. But a broken heart, trauma, guilt and abuse is never easy to talk about, and is just made 100 times worse in the apocalypse...

Happy reading xx :_)_


	23. Chapter 23 No

**Eli **THANK YOU SO MUCH! You make me blush so hard when I read your comments! Just a quick question, are you and **Eli-XD-O **the same person? **Eli-XD-O** put -Eli at the end of their review and I assumed they meant they were you. But they said that in chapter 22 and then you reviewed chapter 20 after that. Uhm, sorry, I'm a technophobe and this stuff confuses me xx :D

**mks 12 98 **yes it is. Though, the part I think you are talking about is not for a few more chapters. It was such a controversial episode though wasn't it? There was a for and against for every character, even Lizzie, I mean, she was only doing what she thought was right. It was so devastating. Pure Art. So impressive.

**Guest **Everyone doesn't make poor Carl gay, silly :) you've just happened across a story that has (well, technically, in my story, Carl is Oliver-sexual) haha :) sorry if you don't enjoy the story, but in my opinion, it's not all that different from straight love :)

**Oliver's POV**

Tyreese knocks on the door and he and Carol wait on the porch for a moment. I stand at the bottom of the steps with Judith in my arms, she's woken up and will be wanting some formula soon. But luckily, living in the apocalypse has made her a pretty patient child, so she won't fuss for a while yet.  
>Mika and Lizzie are sat on some garden chairs; the fancy kind that people would have used to have tea parties in movies, with intricate patterns carved into the seats.<br>"If there's one in there it's not moving, watch," Carol says quietly, looking into the house through the screen door. "Let's just stay close, go slow, room to room."  
>Judith begins to fidget a little, so I rock her in my arms and quietly shush her to settle. Which she does easily; simply nuzzling her face into my shoulder again.<br>"Girls, you sit tight. You don't come in, until we come out, no matter what, you, hear," Carol says clearly to Mika and Lizzie.  
>"Okay," The Samuel Sisters say in unison.<br>Carol glances at me and I nod, understanding that she wants the same from me, too. "Oliver's got Judith. Girls, take out your guns," she says. And they both pull out their weapons, holding them loosely in their small hands.  
>"Ma'am," I say, standing up a little more so that I'm not leant on the railing anymore.<br>"Yeah?" Carol nods to me.  
>"I was wondering if I could have a gun, too?"<br>She thinks for a moment, chewing her lower lip. "Oliver. Ty and I've had this whole time to teach Mika and Lizzie how to use firearms, but you told me in class that you'd never used one before. It's more than just putting 'em together and pullin' the trigger."  
>I remember that Carol doesn't know about when I helped defend The Prison the evening she never came back from her run with Rick. "I know, Ma'am. But I've had a little practice," I tell her truthfully. She cocks an eyebrow doubtfully so I continue. "There was a breach, the evening Mr Grimes. came back from your run. Walkers got into The Prison and we had to fight them off. Um, and Carl was teaching me how to put his colt together and how to load it up, day before last." I say, somehow keeping my voice free of any emotion, as if I am blocking it out or something. Blocking him out.<br>But I pause as all four of their expressions drop.  
>"Wh-what?" I whisper in alarm, my voice failing on me finally. But I realise that I have just told them all something of what I have been doing since the fall of The Prison.<br>Carol steps towards me to the edge of the porch. "Y-you were with Carl?" Her voice cracks. "You got out... together?" she asks, trying hard to keep the sudden desperation out of her voice.  
>I stare at her for a long time, feeling my sorrow and guilt rise in my chest, before finally answering her. "Yeah," I mutter, nodding carefully as if I'm trying to balance the whole world on the top of my head. I want to tell her more, that I escaped with Rick too, and that Michonne found the three of us a few days later, and then, the next day those men came and-... but I can't. I can't say it.<br>Carol's breath catches. "W-what... w-where-"  
>But tears begin spilling from my eyes and I have to look away. "Please?" I beg, wiping my eyes on my shoulder as I keep hold of Judith. "Ma'am, please?"<br>I listen as Carol composes herself again, taking deep breaths of my own as well. "Uh, s-sorry. Uh, yeah. Okay. Ty, could Oliver use your glock?" she asks him gently, humane enough not to press on the sensitive subject I am not ready to talk about yet.  
>"Yeah. I got my rifle. Never was one for pistols," he says. I look back at them, seeing Tyreese forcing the shock from his face as he pulls out his gun and hands it to Carol. I think of all the times that Sasha used to make fun of Tyreese's poor shooting skills.<br>"Thanks, Ty," I say, making sure my voice doesn't shake as I sniff a little as Carol hands me the gun. I feel the weight of the pistol as I bob my hand a little, before stuffing it into the back of my jeans and taking hold of Judith properly again.  
>"Lizzie, Mika. You're gonna need to stay an' watch," Carol finishes, heading into the house through the creaky door.<br>Tyreese glances at me, nodding. I nod back, silently telling him we'll be okay. He looks at Mika and Lizzie, pursing his lips into a reassuring smile. "Stay strong, Little Ladies," he says to them and then follows Carol inside of the house.  
>I take a seat at the bottom of the stairs, closing my eyes and waiting for the tears to stop threatening to fall. My sorrow persists and my throat aches, begging to cry until I am unconscious again. But I don't let it.<br>"Hurt's doesn't it?" Lizzie says a moment later, watching me as I try to calm myself.  
>I look at her, gulping the lump from my throat. "What?" I croak curiously, ignoring my sadness.<br>"It hurts... seeing someone you love die," she says quietly. "We saw our Mom die. An' our Dad, too."  
>"I didn't see him die," I say without hesitation.<br>"So?" Lizzie shrugs dismissively. "He's still dead... Jus' like Rick's dead. An' Maggie's dead. An' Glenn. Daryl. Michonne. Hershel. Sasha. Beth... everyone's dead. And everyone _will_ die... We know it hurts."  
>"You don't know," I retort harsher than I meant it to be, furrowing my brow in anger. <em>How could she possibly know? I didn't just lose my family and friends. I lost the boy I loved, truly loved with everything in me... Lizzie hasn't the first clue of how unbearably lost I feel!<br>_Lizzie doesn't say anything, she just arches her brow at me, as if she feels sorry for me.  
>I look away, irritated by how small I feel under her gaze but knowing she doesn't deserve my foul temper. "Lizzie, I'm sorry. I just, really, don't wanna talk about that," I mutter.<br>"Hm," Lizzie gives a fraction of a nod, before looking at the floor. A long moment passes and I become aware of how distant she suddenly looks.  
>"Lizzie?" I whisper, but she doesn't respond. <strong><em>I think she's worried about Carol and Tyreese. <em>**_Yeah,_ _I think so, too..._ **_Oliver..._** _Yeah?_ **_So? What are you going to do about it?_** _What...? I-I don't know._ **_Again, your_** **_consoling_** **_skills are appalling! Go and_** **_comfort_** **_her!_** _Oh..._ _right...  
><em>I walk over to the two girls, crouching down in front to The Eldest Samuel Sister to look at them both. "Don't worry. They're gonna be fine. They wont die, not like... uh, e-everyone else. Okay?" I say, feeling like an idiot for how bad at this kind of thing I am.  
>Still looking away, Lizzie shakes her head. "It's not that."<br>I lean back, balancing on the balls of my feet as I keep Judith held to my chest, confused as I try to think of something else to say to console her, or, I don't know, something to see her a little happier and less... catatonic.  
>"Is it that there was a baby?" Mika asks, looking up to something behind me. I follow her gaze and notice the graveyard out in the back yard. There's a baby's grave, with a pair of tiny golden coloured shoes hung up on the home-made cross. No doubt the child would have died after the outbreak, I guess the parents left, or maybe Carol and Tyreese will find them in there as walkers.<br>"No," Lizzie replies, waiting a long moment to continue. I look back to the girls, furrowing my brow at Lizzie's reply. **_What is she upset by then? _**But as if she knew what I was thinking, she answers my unasked question. "They're gonna find one in there, and they're going t-"  
>"Stop it! They aren't people!" Mika snaps.<br>I startle as her sudden outburst and she glances at me apologetically, sinking into her seat a little, scolding herself for her short temper. I stare at them both in utter confusion.  
>"But you're wrong. All of you," Lizzie glances at me, her eyes vacant and dazed, making my skin tense in worry for her.<br>"Lizzie," I try, a little more gently than Mika. "They aren't people anymore."  
>"No! They're not! They're just dead!" Mika shouts, frustrated by her sister and again, unable to hold in her anger. "Oliver, tell her! She doesn't understand! She's so stupid! Lizzie, they're not people! They're just dead!"<br>I am about to stop Mika, shush her before she ends up lashing out on her sister or worse. But I am interrupted by a growl. I didn't hear the side doors' creak as it was pushed open. I didn't react quick enough to pull out my gun and shoot.  
>"Ah!" Lizzie gasps, as she and Mika leap away from the walker, while I startle backwards too, trying my hardest not to drop Judith and pull out my gun at the same time.<br>The walker limps for us, walking right into the white banister, peeling the paint away as it shoves its body against it. But it rolls over the banister, slamming into the floor below with a crunch and a thud.  
>"Shit!" I hiss through my teeth, my eyes wide as I try to hold Judith and get out my gun and stop myself from falling flat on the floor at the same time with not enough hands. Judith begins screaming in my arms, startled by my jolting and ungraceful movements. I try to calm her, still attempting to pull the damned gun out of my jeans. But it's difficult to balance myself and a Judith with no free hands. "Mika! Lizzie! Shoot it!" I bark desperately as I struggle to bring myself to my feet, clutching a wailing Judith to my chest.<br>I hear the first gunshot, but it misses.  
>"STOP! STOP!" Lizzie screams frantically.<br>I grab my gun, aiming it at the walker. But for a split second, out of the corner of my eye, I think I see Lizzie aim her gun at me, but I don't look at her, dismissing the unrealistic delusion as I pull the trigger.  
>The walker slumps to the floor but I only got it in the shoulder, so a moment later, the thing pulls itself up again and makes a beeline for the closest objects to it with a heart beat; me and Judith.<br>"STOP!" Lizzie screeches, horrified as she clambers for her little sister. But Mika shoots again, and this time the bullet travels straight through the walker's skull and finally kills it.  
>The house door swings open with a loud creak and then a slam as it hits the wall behind it. Carol and Tyreese leap down the porch and over to us, panting as they take in the scene. "Are you okay?" Carol asks us, grabbing under my arms and pulling me up.<br>I let out a yelp, the pain shooting up my body as Carol puts pressure on my rib cage. But the memory of Dan sneering horribly at me as he towered over my shaking body seems to engulf me like The Living Dead Plague, flashing through my vision and making me feel like I am about to hurl.  
>I begin to shake and I struggle to keep hold of the terrified baby in my arms. "St-stop!" I whine desperately, pulling away from Carol's embrace and frantically blinking away my flash backs.<br>"Oliver, it's okay. It's jus' me," Carol tries to console me, "Are you okay?"  
>"Y-yeah," I lie, my spine convulsing and my arms shaking badly as I clutch hold of a still wailing Judith, her cries like knives cutting through my clouding mind. "We're okay," I manage to get out, though my voice cracks as my shaking increases.<br>"Here, give 'er to me?" Tyreese mutters, gesturing to Judith as he notices my instability.  
>I don't move, but as he steps closer I allow him to take Judith from me. I don't look at either of them, fearing that Dan's face will leak into both of theirs if I do. So instead I step over to the porch, grabbing at the railing for support as I slump down on the stone steps, clutching around my middle and rocking back and forth to subdue the pain and the terrible memories.<br>**_Close contact with others seems to have become a trigger of the flashbacks._** _I hate it._ _I hate it!_  
>"Mika?" Carol says, staring worriedly at the traumatized child as she is still holding her weapon up to the dead walker, unable to relax her shaking arms. "Mika. Lower the gun," she says. I watch as Mika begins to loosen her arms and the gun falls along with them. "You did it. You saved 'em."<br>Lizzie begins crying, hysterically. Her body hunches and she stares down at the dead walker, mortified and devastated.  
>"Why're you upset Lizzie?" Carol asks. "Were you scared?"<br>Lizzie tucks a lock of her hair behind her hear and shakes her head, her body rigid and tense with horror. "No," she gulps.  
>"Then why're you crying?" Carol gets out, frustration cracking her voice.<br>"I don't wanna say," is all Lizzie responds with, before rushing away to a garden bench, staring out at The Grove as she tries to calm herself.  
>Tyreese coos to Judith at the top of the stairs behind me, but the baby continues to wail, terrified after so much gunfire and screaming.<br>Mika exchanges a glance with Carol, before going over to her sister and placing a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.  
>"Lizzie... I'm sorry I yelled at you," she apologises.<br>Carol glances at me and Tyreese, looking exhausted and desperate for some kind of explanation or closure, but neither I or Tyreese have any to offer her, or ourselves.  
>"Jus', look at the flowers like you're suppose to," Mika tells her big sister. They both gaze at the small gathering of wild flowers and Mika rubs circles into Lizzie's back. "Count one, two, three. C'mon. Let's count together. Look at the pink ones over there, you see?" Mika says, as her vulnerable sister hangs off of every word. Dependent on her to calm her again. As though this happens all the time.<br>I take a puff from my inhaler as my airways begin to tighten from the stress and strain, listening as Mika and Lizzie count together.

"One. Two. Three... good... One. Two. Three."

_~ A Few Hours Later ~_

Lizzie calmed down after a few minutes, she's been quiet, but I think we just need to give her a little time to adjust. It must be tough for her and Mika; going from The Prison to this... fatherless and vulnerable and on the harvested as may pecans as we could find from The Grove, then brought them back to the house. Tyreese has also been hauling water back to the house from The Groves' well and me and Carol have been boiling it on the stove with the kettle. We found almost 20 cans of peaches in the pantry and we treated ourselves to a can each. There was only peaches though. Whoever lived here must have really liked them. I found two more Ventolin inhalers in the houses' medical cupboard in the kitchen, for once glad that someone else had asthma like me. One inhaler is used already, maybe half empty by what it sounded like when I shook it, the other was brand new though, so I should be good for at least 2 weeks, maybe more if I can reduce how much I take a little. I also found some more bandages, I left my temple without one and the cut on my lip from whatever cut me in the suburb house isn't bad enough for a bandage either. I have managed to successfully disinfect all my injuries and re-bandaged around my abdomen again, too.  
>The Grove has 3 bedrooms, and it was decided that I would sleep in with the girls in the adults room, Carol would sleep in the third bedroom with Judith,and Ty would have the spare room.<br>Just as Tyreese is lighting the wood fire in the living room, I set Judith down on the couch, wrapping her up cosily into her blanket and letting her sleep her earlier troubles away. _With the warm fire, at least those chilly nights won't affect us for now._ **_Yeah... for now._** I ignore my doubt as I spot a jigsaw puzzle box under the couch and I carry it over to the table where Carol is sat.  
>"Wanna play?" I ask anyone.<br>"Uh huh. In a minute. I'm just gonna go help sort the pecans," Lizzie answers quietly, still shaken after the trauma we had just experienced a few hours previously, going with Mika to the front porch to separate the good pecans from the bad.  
>"Okay," I say, nodding to them as they leave and hearing them make comforting, sisterly chatter together from outside. "Ma'am? You wanna help?"<br>Carol smirks at me, but it's not because she is refusing. I let myself smirk back slightly, understanding what she is trying to tell me without her having to use words. "_Carol..._? Do you wanna help?" I repeat, only, using her first name now instead.  
>She chuckles in approval. "Yeah, sure," she smiles. "What's it suppose to turn out like when we're done?"<br>"Uh," I look at the cover, seeing a young girl wearing a blue short sleeve with a picture of a cartoon rainbow printed on it, with big, hazel eyes, auburn, neck length hair and freckles sprinkled across her fair and smiling cheeks. "A little girl," I answer, opening the box and placing it on the table.  
>Carol takes the box lid with the picture and smiles softly at the cover. "Hm... looks kinda like-..." her voice is gentle and filled with memories, though she trails off before she finishes. But I know she is talking about Sophia.<br>I let the corners of my mouth soften and curve slightly. "I wish I'd met her," I say quietly.  
>"Yeah, you two woulda gotten along... Sophia was the kind o' child you couldn't help but get along with," Carol says tentatively, but she knows that I know this already.<br>I smile slightly, glad that she said her daughter's name. We splay the jigsaw pieces over the table and then begin our assemble.  
>"Did Carl tell you much about 'er... anything at all?" Carol asks after a while.<br>My gut aches at his mention. But I ignore it and nod. "Some... Like how she was a great friend; kind and friendly and generous, good," I say, doing well to bottle my pain and understanding why Carol was so reluctant to say Sophia's name now, as Carl's is almost painful to hear. "He said he and Lori and Shane escaped to the first camp –in the mountains- with you and Sophia and your husband, Ed?"  
>Carol nods in confirmation, sort of grimacing at Ed's mention and waiting a moment before talking again. "He wasn't a good father, or husband... or man... He was a bad man... a sick man." she says quietly, even though the words have nothing but venom behind them.<br>I furrow my brow in confusion, because Carl never told me much about Sophia's father, only that he kind of kept his distance from him. But Carol's brow arches and I suddenly realise what she means by 'sick'. I wince, but this time it is in disgust, not pain.  
>Carol nods in confirmation, looking sad and regretful. I can't imagine her guilt after allowing her daughter to have to go through that. To have to live with that and to have to call such a sick paedophile a husband... a father, it must be torture, especially now. I watch her for a moment, begging for her to understand what I have been through. But I can't bring the words to my mouth to tell her.<br>But Carol stares right back, pursing her lips slightly before speaking, gently and so quietly that it is only in the deafening silence that we live in now that I manage to hear her. "Oliver... it's okay... I understand."  
>I know that Carol has figured out why I haven't said anything about what happened to me. Maybe not all of it, but I can see by her sympathetic and sad expression that she has a rough idea. She has seen this kind of trauma before. She has had to witness the affects of physical and sexual abuse, in her own daughter... and in herself... and now me. And it near enough kills me as I finally become aware of this.<br>My breathing hitches. "I'm..." I want to apologise for making her relive the memories that I am sure I am reminding her of, but I know that it will be meaningless now. "I-I've met sick men too," I mutter to her instead, suddenly desperate for the consolation that I have been refusing from her this whole time. But I stay rigid, not wanting to move or breath or think or feel, just feeling my mouth open and close, trying to say the words that I won't allow to escape me.  
>"I know, Oliver."<br>Tears suddenly spill from my eyes and my face contorts as I stare down at the oak table top, watching my tears drip from my lashes and make a splash as they hit the varnished surface. Carol leans forward and dips her head a little, but I can't look at her.  
>I close my eyes, holding my breath to stop it hitching. <strong><em>Talk... Talk now, Oliver... before you can't bring yourself to talk ever again.<em>** I can feel my whole body shaking, hearing the faint movement of the chair legs as they jolt against the floor.  
>"Carol." I try, but my throat closes. Only, it's not from my asthma. All I am is terrified right now.<br>Carol places her hand on mine and I wince from the contact, almost pulling away. But I know that she isn't the person I need to fear. She is probably the only person left alive who can help me. "I'm here, Oliver."  
>I open my eyes, only just realising that they had been closed for a while now as I can feel my tears drying on my lashes. I stare at her, letting her almost grey irises pass their strength into me, without needing words. And it amazes me that Carol has the power to offer her courage without using her voice, just her presence and comfort is enough.<br>I take a deep breath. "I got out with them both... C-Carl and Mr Grimes." I say, feeling like I am choking on their names. "The Governor was killed. It was over... We found a house, in an abandoned suburb just outside of where you found me. We stayed there for a couple days. Then Michonne found us... but the next day... th-they broke in... a group of guys. I hid with Rick, 'cause Carl and Michonne were out on a run, but..." I I look away, unable to finish and running dry on the borrowed strength, but refusing to refuel with the comfort Carol is trying to give me.  
>She doesn't move her hand away. And I'm glad because I don't want her to. But I know that if she were to comfort me more than this; maybe gently stoke across the back of my hand with her thumb or tentatively squeeze my hand in hers, it will make me too uncomfortable. But she seems to know this, because she doesn't move, or talk... she just waits for me.<br>"A man saw me," I say slowly. "Made me come out of hiding... Mr Grimes. was with me but the guy didn't see him. But Mr Grimes. and I both knew that if he helped me, he'd get himself killed and wouldn't be able to save Carl and Michonne. So I left the room with the guy and another man before they could find Mr Grimes. They took me downstairs, there were 4 or 5 guys I think, maybe more, I don't remember. But they were..." Monsters,I want to finish with, but I shake my head clear of my anger. "They took me into the living room, and... a-a man... he... he said that he 'claimed' me..." Carol's expression tenses and floods with sorrow, but I keep staring at her, knowing that if I look away I won't be able to keep talking. But I need to talk. If I don't I'm scared I will explode. "I didn't know, what was happening... what he was talking about... what he was gonna do. H-he took me to the utility room and... a-and..." but my face contorts and a loud, guttural hiccup interrupts my voice, but when I try to finish I can't speak again, as if my allotted time to explain has run out, just like my strength.  
>Carol's brow arches and her grip on my hand changes slightly. I almost pull away from her, disturbed and reacting to her movement, but I realise that she is shaking too.<br>She speaks with a very low, serious voice that I would be afraid of if I didn't know her. "Oliver... did he... did the man-...?"  
>I begin crying before she can form her sentence properly. I pull my hands away and lean my elbows on the table, crying hysterically into my palms and only just hearing Carol's quiet sobs over my own loud and frantic ones.<p>

"No."

The word finally comes out of my convulsing body. Terrified for what could have happened if things had taken place a moment later, or somehow was changed in some small way that would have ended up in the robbery of my innocence and any remaining sanity. And I am almost sure that I will break into a million pieces of relief when I say it. But somehow I stay in one piece, crying and shaking, but still just me. Still just Oliver De Luca.  
>Carol makes a noise like a choked sigh, and then takes a deep breath. I coax my eyes away from my palms.<br>"No..." I repeat, shaking my head as I get her eye contact again. "He didn't rape me," I whisper shakily, the overwhelming relief in my truthful words proving to be almost too much for me to bear.  
>There is a long pause as what I have just shared sinks into Carol's mind, and my own too, letting us just embrace the relief of it for a moment, wiping our eyes dry and taking deep breaths. "And Rick...? Carl? Michonne? You saw?" Carol asks dubiously, fearful for my answer as she suppresses her crying.<br>"No..." I shake my head, feeling tears continue down my cheeks. "But, I-I heard his screaming. Mr Grimes. was found. Carol... Carl and Michonne, they would've come back... th-they would've walked right into those men... they would've been-" I start crying again, too much to finish my sentence.  
>"Oh, Oliver," Carol breathes.<br>She waits for me to settle again, which takes a long time, but she stays patient and comforting until I finally stop crying."But, are you sure? If you didn't see them, then... Oliver, they could still be alive."  
>I glare at Carol, wanting to scream at her, wanting to curse her statement for attempting to plant such a possibility in my mind, like saying such a thing is almost cruel. But I don't say this, because I want so much to believe her. But I can't believe that. Maybe a week ago I would have, but too much bad has happened for anything good to finally show up now.<br>"They're dead," I say blankly, hiding the despair that I am burying inside of me, afraid that it will become so strong that it throws me across the room. "They're dead," I repeat, "and it's my fault."  
>"No," Carol barks, making me startle a little. "Don't you say that... Ever. Guilt is a terrible thing to deal with... especially now. It latches onto whoever thinks they deserve it... some of us do deserve it, and we take it, and it never lets go... But you are <em>not<em> one of those people, Oliver. You don't deserve the guilt. And it'll kill you if you let it eat away at you like this, like you're letting it do to you now."  
>I stare at Carol for a long moment, before nodding silently and wiping my eyes dry. I press my cold fingers to my closed lids, feeling the soggy, puffy skin on them. The relief from the chill of my cold extremities is too refreshing for words, so I just sigh, hiccuping slightly. "Thank you," I say to her.<br>"That's okay, Pookie," she says.  
>I hiccup again, dropping my hands from my eyes and furrowing my eyebrows at her, watching as a subtle smirk spreads over her thin lips. "That's Daryl's nick name isn't it?" I ask, feeling a defiant, weak smirk pull at my own mouth.<br>Carol nods. "Yeah, it is. Always seems to put a smile on his face when I call him that... so, I thought he wouldn't mind me using it to cheer you up, too," she explains gently.  
>I smile, letting out a small chuckle. "Well, I guess it worked," I mutter. "But... I think <em>'Pookie'<em> should get to keep his nick name."  
>Carol chuckles quietly. "All right."<br>Mika and Lizzie walk into the room. Mika holds the tray of edible pecans and places them on the table in front of Carol. "You wanna help with the jigsaw?" I ask her, picking up a pecan and examining it, glad that my hands are no longer shaking.  
>"I was gonna look around the house a little, if that's okay?" she says, retrieving a nut cracker from the kitchen and handing it to Carol.<br>"Yeah sure. Go ahead," I answer, beginning to wonder if I am really as immature as Patrick used to say I was... But I push my feeble insecurity to the back of my head when Lizzie sits next to me and begins putting the puzzle pieces together.  
>"I wanna help," she says, chewing her lip again.<br>"Okay," I say, dropping the pecan I was holding back onto the tray and helping Lizzie. "Try to find the corner pieces first," I suggest.  
>We continue the puzzle together as Carol begins to crack open the pecans. I eat some raw at Carol's permission. I like pecans, but they are never going to beat chocolate pudding.<br>After a little while, Lizzie stops what she is doing and drifts off, daydreaming. I stop too, watching her as her brow furrows and her pupils blow slightly, deep in thought. But she looks troubled, disturbed almost. I nudge Carol under the table and she looks up as she cracks open another pecan. I subtly motion my head to Lizzie and Carol glances at her.  
>"You still upset?" she asks the child, picking out the soft part of the pecan and placing it into a bowl.<br>Lizzie frowns at the puzzle, before meeting Carol's gaze. "Sometimes I don't understand. But I'm trying to, Ma'am," she says. "I am."  
>Carol purses her lips, grateful for Lizzie's efforts, and looks back to the pecans.<br>"Look what I found!" Mika suddenly skips into the living room, holding a moth eaten doll with long, red hair. "I'm gonna name 'er..." She glances at the window as she thinks. "Grazelda Gunderson!" she giggles, rushing over to the rug and sitting cross legged in front of the fire.  
>I smile a little as she plays with the doll, noticing the gloom from outside turning the room yellow and orange from the flame and various lamps dotted around the room.<br>Tyreese dawdles into the living room. "Well, we got plenty o' water. Now all we gotta do is bag us one of dem deer and we all set!" he grins, wiping his hands dry.  
>"And we'll get one," Carol affirms, cracking another pecan open.<br>"Yeah," Tyreese breaths.  
>I look at him, a little alarmed when I see him kind of swaying on his feet, smiling as he looks around the room, seeming almost elated.<br>"Ty?" I say wearily.  
>He looks at me, snapping out of his daze.<br>"What's wrong?" Mika asks him.  
>"I'm not used to this," he answers, breathing deeply.<br>"Used to what?" Lizzie questions.  
>"Being in a living room... in a house," Tyreese says, his brow rising more and more as he looks around the room, impressed and grateful for our luck in finding this place.<br>"Yeah," Mika says, grinning at him. "So relax," she says, before going back to her doll.  
>Tyreese's breath catches as he finally takes a seat in the armchair beside him. He lets himself melt into the comfort of the soft cushions and removes his beanie hat.<br>Reminded of my own hat, I pull at it a little, before continuing to put together the jigsaw with Lizzie for a while.  
>"We should live here," Mika says, smiling proudly at all of us. I furrow my brow at her, almost telling her that to stay here is impossible. But I glance at Carol, seeing her smiling, and then to Tyreese, seeing that he is also smiling.<br>_They want to stay here?_ **_I think so... maybe that's not such a bad idea?_** _But, what about Terminus?_ **_Well... what about it? If this place, here in The Grove, is already safe... a sanctuary... then why would you want to leave to find another that may or may not be there?_** _Because... what if..._ **_What?_** _What if they really did survive? Like Carol said...What if Carl is alive? What if he and Rick and Michonne are all okay? If they saw a Terminus sign... they'd follow it. Wouldn't they?_ **_Yes. They would follow it._** _So? Why wouldn't we keep going? We could find them. I could be with him again._ **_Because, Oliver... what if they aren't there? What if he isn't there?_** _No. No, that wouldn't prove anything!_ **_Yes it would. If Carl isn't at Terminus you know he'll be dead._** _So you do think he's dead... really dead?_ **_I... I don't know, Oliver... I really don't know_** **_any more._**

Notes

So, Oliver wasn't claimed! Yay! Poor kid is still traumatized though... but he'll be okay one day... I hope :)

Preview: In the next chapter, CARL IS BACK! 3 chapters?! How fucking dare me! I know! And I am so sorry! It will be their little episode in "Us" among the next few scenes in the episode "The Grove" Oliver becomes truly aware of how unconditionally adorable Judy is! But issues with Lizzie are becoming more noticeable, but she's probably just having a tough time though, right?

Don't hesitate to leave me a little comment, praise, criticism anything. You don't even need to log in :) It helps me a lot and the more I get, the more I will upload :)

Happy reading xx :_)_


	24. Chapter 24 The World Needs Judith Grimes

**Guest **haha, yeah, they have no idea! I can't wait for you to read what happens with that! Also, gosh, thank you for spending so much time reading the story! Love you for that!

**mks 12 98 **I know, it would have prevented the whole tragedy. But I guess they left them alone because in the new world, kids are gonna have to be trusted on their own. And in short, really, they just would never have thought Lizzie would do that. You know. It just doesn't happen. Kids killing kids... well, that's what they thought...

**Eli-XD-O **That's, sweet. I really wanted to show how close Carol and Oliver become. And they only get closer :) Yeah, I think Oliver needed that little eruption of emotion, poor kid. Don't worry, De Luca and Grimes will be reunited soon. X

**Oliver's POV**

Something gargles near my face, pulling me from unconsciousness.  
>I wake up. But in an act of defiance to myself I keep my eyes shut, only aware of the fact that I am sandwiched between Mika and Lizzie in the double bed in one of the bedrooms the three of us adopted as our own last night.<br>Like I wanted, I let myself drift away again, tiredness taking over my mind once more. I wonder for a moment what had woken me in the first place and just as I drift off again I remember what it was when I hear the quiet gargling again from before.  
>I open my eyes with a mild start, but instantly relax again when I meet the bright and shiny eyes of Little Judith.<br>She watches me for a long moment, blinking innocently and I know that she is waiting to be fed. It's strange, I remember Judith crying a lot back at The Prison, as Carl would moan about her constantly, but now, it's like she knows that she should keep quiet. I'm not complaining, though. I would much rather her wake me with gargle noises than screaming.  
>She blinks at me, mumbling to herself as she absentmindedly prods her thumb against my cheek.<br>"Mornin' Judy," I smile and lean forward a little to kiss her forehead, before sitting up and resting her on my lap. "You want some breakfast?" I coo to her.  
>Woken by the movement on the mattress, Mika leans over onto her back to look at me, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Mornin'," she mumbles. But she sees Judith in my arms and frowns at us. "Hey, you said you were gonna take 'er back to Carol before you fell asleep."<br>It's true. I told Carol I would just have Judith in the bedroom with me and the girls for a little while, and then take her back and let her sleep in with her. I remember Mika and Lizzie falling asleep, but nothing after that. I must have just curled up with the quiet and tolerant little baby in my arms. Although, seeing as Carol hasn't come in and taken Judith from me, I am guessing that she isn't particularly worried.  
>"I know. I forgot," I reply to Mika.<br>She giggles, yawning at the same time which makes me sneer quietly at her while her eyes are closed.  
>"Carol looked tired anyway," Mika mumbles. "Maybe it was better for Judy to sleep in here. Everything works out the way it's suppose to, right?"<br>I smile at her, remembering her tell me the same thing during Story Time once, she said that her Mom used to say it all the time. "Yeah. I guess," I mumble.  
>"Jus' like the pillows," Mika mumbles. She's talking about my feather allergy. Because along with those inhalers in the house, there were foam pillows too. So it meant that I could sleep in a bed, with no feathers, and no asthma attack.<br>"Yes," I confirm, "just like the pillows." I scoot across Mika and climb off the bed, carefully keeping Judith in my arms. "I'm gonna go feed 'er. Go back to sleep," I tell Mika, but when I turn to look at the 10 year old, she has rolled over and snuggled into her sister, asleep already.  
>I smile at them. "C'mon, Judy," I whisper to the infant, lifting her to my hip and stepping across the bedroom and into the hallway.<br>Carol keeps the formula in her supply bag, so I go into her bedroom, surprised to see that she is still fast asleep. I reach around the door and silently pull her supply bag out of the room, and then take Judith and the supply bag into the living room, setting them both down on the rug beside each other.  
>Judith sits herself up and begins playing with the moth bitten frays of the fabric, waiting patiently while I prepare her formula.<br>"Come here then," I mutter when I have amateurishly mixed and prepared the bottle, lifting the baby and resting her on my arm. She reaches her hands out for the bottle, grabbing at the air in anticipation. "Okay, okay," I chuckle a little, bringing the bottle to her mouth and feeding it to her. I have only done this a few times before, so I'll admit, I am awkward. Spending the first few minutes trying to figure out how to balance Judith one one arm while I keep the bottle elevated so that she doesn't suck any air. I have to give Beth and Carol and Rick credit. I'd seen them do this _while_ they ate, too! How they managed to balance Judith, feed the bottle, and fork their own food was and is still beyond me, so I focus solely on feeding Judith first.  
>Carol walks in, crossing her arms to wrap her fleece around her middle a little more. I look up to her. "Cold, huh?" I ask, noticing her shivering and hunched shoulders.<br>"Mmm," she agrees, raising her brow and nodding. She yawns. "Not as cold as it will be soon, though. I'm jus' glad we slept inside – with a fire, too."  
>I nod and give a half smile, continuing to feed Judith. But I grimace as an unfortunate odour creeps into my nose.<br>I hear Carol chuckle and I look up to her, still grimacing from the smell. "You gotta change 'er," Carol says to me, grinning smugly at my disgust.  
><em>Oh, gross.<em> **_Way to_** **_go on the maturity levels, Oliver..._** **_I'm so proud to be called your conscience._** _But it is!_ **_Oh, grow up._** _Fine._ I look at Carol and move my mouth into a smile, a little more awkwardly than I mean it to be. "Uh, I… uh, I don't know how," I admit.  
>Carol smiles. "It's easy. I'll show you."<br>So she does. And I do well not to show my repulse as I help her change Judith's dirty diaper. When we finish, and Judith has finished her bottle as well, Carol tells me that I should wash with some of the water Tyreese brought back yesterday. So I fill a bucket half way and grab a sponge, before heading into the bathroom and finally washing.  
>It's been almost a week since I properly cleaned myself. I had almost forgotten how incredible it feels to touch my skin and not have a layer of grunge rub off on my fingers. There's nothing I can do about my clothes yet though. I'll clean them later and let them dry over night, but for now I will just have to deal with it. I checked in the other bedrooms last night as well, but no teenage boys lived here so I can't change. But I guess clean(ish) skin and dirty clothes is better than dirty everything.<br>I am given permission to take the Judith with me outside to the garden. Mika and Lizzie join us.  
>The garden is just beside the old shack a few hundred yards away from the house, it's overgrown and wild now after so long without a Tender. But it's fruiting right now, so at the moment it looks like a big random merge of ripe fruit and vegetables. <strong><em>Another display of how perfect this place is.<em>** _Uh huh._  
>Mika and Lizzie begin their search for fruit that they like; grapes, strawberries, blackberries, tomatoes and some cherry-plumbs. <strong><em>We definitely won't go hungry for a few days.<em>** Making an effort to avoid even touching the grapes though, I pick a strawberry and bite a chunk out, enjoying the beloved sweetness as I eat it.  
>Judith grabs for the half eaten fruit, wanting some too.<br>"Is Judy allowed to eat solids yet?" I ask Mika and Lizzie.  
>Lizzie shrugs. "I've seen Carol give 'er watered down cereal. So I guess so," she answers.<br>I look back at Judith and bring the fruit to her mouth. She almost looks confused for a moment, but she opens her tiny jaw, leaning forward to chew on it. I chuckle a little, amused because she isn't really eating it, only gnawing at the flesh on the fruit and sucking the juice out.  
>When she has pretty much dried it, I throw the deflated strawberry away before grabbing a handful more and heading back to the house with her. "I'm gonna go back in. Stay close to the house, okay?" I tell the girls.<br>"I'm comin', too," Mika says, following me.  
>Lizzie stays where she is, continuing to pick and eat the fruit.<br>"You all right on your own?" I ask her.  
>She smiles at me and nods. "Yep."<br>"Okay..." I say,looking around the perimeter to see the fences, though not exactly the most secure structures in the world, I know that Lizzie would be able to retreat to the house if she needed to, so I decide that it is safe enough to let her stay out here alone for a few minutes. And I can keep an eye out for her from the house. "Well just stay near the house," I finish and walk with Mika back.

I go to the old fashioned stereo in the corner of the living room, Judith propped on my hip. I fiddle with the dials, and am amazed that the thing is still working, so I search with the baby for something to put on. It's all just Elvis Presley, Freddy Martin, Diana Shore, Dennis Day... but then I see The Ink Spots. Dad used to love them. They're an old band from the 40's and he said that they reminded him of his parents.  
>So I take the record out of its case and carefully put it in the player, moving the dial onto it like I had seen people do in movies. It works, somehow. And the music is just like I remember it. And the soothing, vintage <em>Maybe <em>song floats through the small cottage.  
>So I sit down at the dining room table, resting Judith on my lap and enjoying the old songs. The strawberries we picked are beside the unfinished puzzle and Mika places her haul there too, before sitting opposite me and joining me in picking at the fruit.<br>Carol comes in, nabbing a few blackberries and throwing them into her mouth. "Ooh, I've missed fresh fruit," she enthuses through her mouthful. But her face straitens as she checks around the room. "Wait, where's Lizzie?"  
>"In the 'garden'," I answer, not really knowing if I should really call it that seeing as it is more of a giant bush of fruit and vegetables now. "She's still eating," I add without much thought.<br>Carol looks a little concerned for a moment, but she seems to come to the same conclusion as I did and nods. "Alright. I'm gonna boil some more water," she smiles, lifting the bucket Tyreese brought in yesterday evening and heading over to the stove. "Did you throw that water away after you washed?" she asks me.  
>I nod, grabbing a cherry plumb and throwing it into my mouth. "Yep. Out the bedroom window," I tell her, nibbling around the pip of the fruit.<br>"Okay, good. We'll use that bucket for washing then, and cleaning clothes," Carol says.  
>I turn back to the fruit and take a tomato. Judith grabs and coos for some too and I pull off a little and hand it to her. Smiling as she sticks her thumb into it, making a mess and laughing to herself when it gets all over her fingers.<br>"No - Judy, you gotta eat it," I mumble, taking it from her and guiding the food into her mouth, "like this, see?"  
>She protests a little, but when the fruit meets her tongue, she automatically begins eating it properly. And looks like she is enjoying it, too. I grin at her, satisfied as she munches away on it. <strong><em>She's so adorable!<em>** _I wish Carl could see this…_  
>My smile fades and I watch Judith for a moment. And as if she can read my mind, she stops eating and stares at me, before raising her hand and offering me the half eaten tomato piece.<br>"I'm okay," I decline, almost convinced that she understands as I hand the food back to her and she begins eating it again.  
>I sigh, feeling that damned lump in my throat. "I'm... I'm sorry," I whisper to her, so that Mika and Carol don't hear me. I only want Judith to hear this. My apology is only for her.<br>The baby turns to me, chewing on the last bit of the tomato.  
>"I couldn't save him. I'm so sorry, Judy."<br>Judith, obviously, makes no sign that she understands what I have just said to her and instead she just watches me for a long moment, until she simply loses interest and reaches down to the table to grab at a puzzle piece.  
>I smile a little, feeling pretty dumb. But regardless, I make a silent promise to myself. I promise myself that I am going to keep Judith safe. That I am going to keep her alive. I couldn't protect her father, or... or her brother. So I owe it to them to keep her safe. I owe it to Carl... I will protect his sister until I take my last breath. Judith is everything now. Judith is hope. And the world needs hope right now...<p>

The world needs Judith Grimes.

**Carl's POV**

I haven't spoken to Dad. I've hardly even spoken to Michonne either. Maybe one syllable responses to her, and Dad is lucky to get a small grunt of approval or disapproval out of me. But I don't have anything to say. Especially to him.  
>Dad has given up trying to apologise for what he did. I know he wants me to tell him it's fine, that I forgive him, that I think he did the right thing in letting Oliver die to save us, that he did what he had to do.<br>Even if that is true, I would've… I wish I could have swapped places with Oliver… I wish it was me who had to stay. I wish he was the one who escaped. I hate myself for not keeping him safe and now I will never get the chance to apologise to him. I will never get the chance to tell him… really tell him that I loved him.  
>Our routine is repetitive, tedious... and is becoming more and more maddening by the moment. We walk along the tracks. We stop and rest on the tracks. We eat less than a can or jar of something disgusting each on the tracks. And then we sleep on the tracks. All that, just to do exactly the same thing again the next day. I hate it. And I hate it even more without him. But I can't do anything to change that. And I don't do anything, at all. Not anymore.<br>Michonne taps my shoulder suddenly, snapping me from my thoughts and making me startle. "What?" I mumble, letting my gaze roll back to the tracks under me.  
>Out of my peripheral vision, I see her purse her lips into a tense smile. "I never told you, but I found a few candy bars while we were looting," she says, careful not to mention what looting trip, because one was when I was with Oliver and the other was when Oliver was left behind... even though she knows I am thinking about him, or, trying not to think about him which only makes me think about him more.<br>I extend my hand, dismissively gesturing her to hand a bar over. But she smirks and doesn't take them out.  
>I frown at her, holding my tongue from the irritable comments it wants to say to her.<br>"It's gonna take more than that," she says.  
>"Please?" I add blankly to my gesture, ready to just give up as I begin to lose interest all together.<br>But Michonne shakes her head. "Nope. More. Let's make a bet," she proposes.  
>I roll my eyes. "Michonne, I really don't feel li-" I begin, turning back to the track to keep walking.<br>"Shh, just give it a whorl," she says, a smile tugging at her lips as she follows me.  
>I stare at her incredulously as I walk, confused and irritated by why she is trying to entertain me so much. First it was the crazy cheese and now it's damn candy!<br>Michonne looks away, pursing her lips in embarrassed regret. "Sorry. You don't have to," she says gently, reaching to her back pack to just hand a bar over to me.  
>"Wait," I reach my hand out to hers, pulling it away from her back pack before she grabs a bar. I purse my lips in consideration, feeling my relentless competitiveness begin to seep into my mind, slowly taking over it. "I'll, uh... <em>'give it a whorl'<em>," I subtly mock her previous proposal, but I keep my face straight.  
>Michonne smiles and I try to return it, but only one side of my lips kind of twitch a little. "What bet do you wanna make?" I ask.<br>Michonne thinks for a moment, before pointing to the tracks. "Whoever can walk along the track for the longest wins a bar... winner's choice."  
>"Hm," I nod, raising my brow in confidence and keeping my voice casual, "all right, you're on."<br>We line up, me on the right side, balancing on the iron beam and Michonne on my left. I spread my arms, readjusting my posture to suit the two supply bags that I am still lugging on either side of me. I glance at her, cocking a brow and feeling a smile almost tug at my lips.  
>She chuckles and nods, "go."<br>We begin walking. I wobble almost every step I take but I keep my balance together to a satisfactory level, unconsciously smiling now as I focus solely on beating Michonne. She giggles, looking proud of herself for cheering me up.  
>But I become aware of my grin and I straighten my face again without really wanting to. I glance away, pursing my lips in discomfort with my own happiness. But I ignore it and continue along the iron beam, still determined to win against her.<br>"I think we got about a days worth o' water left," Dad says ahead.  
>I glance up at him for a moment, noticing that he hasn't realised mine and Michonne's little bet yet. I almost step off the track before he sees us, but my ruthless need to win this thing wont allow it.<br>"We're lucky it's cooled off a little bit, but-" He stops and I hear him turn around to us as his boots move the pebbles beneath them. "What are you doin'?" he asks.  
>I look up to him again, seeing him smiling at me and cocking a brow, glad to see me doing something other than sulking I guess. But his expression forces a small smirk to spread across my own mouth, but I shake it away and look at the iron beam again, irritated by my own glee and almost feeling guilty for it.<br>"Winning a bet," I mutter irritably under my breath.  
>"In your dreams!" Michonne retorts in jest, not noticing the annoyance and pain in my voice.<br>I look up to her, rolling my eyes. "I'm still on," I say protest quietly, making an effort not to let Dad hear me too well.  
>But in my concentration not to include him, I loose my footing and almost stumble. "Gyuh!" I groan as I right myself, flailing out my arms like an idiot.<br>"Spoke too soon, Wise Guy," Michonne seers.  
>Dad walks towards us and I avoid his eye contact, continuing my slow stepping along the train track. "This might go on for a while," he begins, trying to get me to look at him by dipping his head as he approaches, but I focus on the iron beam under my odd shoes, not giving in to him. "Any chance we could... speed this up."<br>_Ass hole. This whole time he has been practically begging me to act like a normal kid and enjoy myself, and this one time. One time! He wants us to stop. Well screw him._  
>"Yeah, you're right," Michonne says, and I almost glare at her, but stop myself short of it because she doesn't actually step off of the track. "We shouldn't be foolin' 'round. We should probably CALL!" She jolts her arm out to me and I startle slightly, but maintain my balance. Only, I can't say the same for her because she begins to topple as her extended extremity throws her off balance. I grin as she falls, unable to relax my face as I watch her fumble to right herself and stand properly beside the track. She glares at me as I stop walking, staying stood up on the iron beam and enjoying being slightly taller than her for once.<br>"I win," I say. "Pay up."  
>I hear Dad chuckle slightly and I shoot him a glare, both of our expressions dropping instantly. I look back to Michonne, as she tries to ignore my hostility towards my father. She hesitates, exchanging a glance with Dad, but he doesn't say anything so she proceeds to take out two candy bars, subtly trying to conceal one, but I notice. I read the packaging of the one she obviously wants me to take,<em>'CRUNCH'<em> and then I crane my head to read the other, _'BIG CAT'._  
>"Is that really the last Big Cat?" I ask, chewing my lip as something tugs at my memory. But I shake it off, lifting my hand and letting her think I will take the <em>crunch<em> bar, but I move my extremity and hover over the _Big Cat_ instead_._  
>"Oh! Come on?!" Michonne mews.<br>"Hey, but you said," I glance up at her, smirking from the buzz winning has granted me, "_winner's choice,_" I repeat her tone from a minute ago.  
>Michonne purses her lips, silently cursing herself for her previous promise. She tosses the bar at me underarm and I fumble to catch it for a moment. "Go ahead, it's yours," she says in dismay, grinning in amusement. "You won it. Fair and square."<br>I split open the bar, only, I suddenly remember why the bar brand was of significance to me... Oliver said that he like Big Cat candy bars the day we ate the pudding on the rooftop.  
>I frown at the packet. And then I frown at my father, making his expression drop again from the stupid smile plastered over it a moment before. Hatred bubbles through my veins, and I am afraid I will scream at my father.<p>

"_I'd still want you to smile," Oliver's voice suddenly speaks in my head, his gentle, articulate and beloved sound repeating what he had said to me only a few days ago. "If I died," he said, "I'd still want you to smile. I'd still wanna know that you'd be okay."_

I hold Dad's gaze, with what feels like a rock or tumor, growing and expanding in my gut, weighing me down with my own despair and sadness. My chin shakes as tears well in my eyes. But I look away from him, forcing my face to relax as I aggressively blink away my tears. I miss his voice. I miss him. So much it hurts. But I know that Oliver meant what he told me. He would still want me to be all right. I don't know what I can do to stop hurting for Oliver, but hating my father isn't going to help. I know that. And I know Oliver would say the same if he were here.  
>I look back to Dad, showing no emotion but making an effort not to frown or show the contempt I know I don't really feel towards him.<br>He nods, as if he understands what I am trying to do, but neither of us say anything.  
>Michonne zips up her bag and is about to start walking again. But I snap the bar in half and hold out a piece to her. She hesitates, smiling softly at me in silent decline.<br>"Come on," I say quietly, moving my hand closer to her, "we always share."  
>She suppresses her smile and holds out her hand. "Fork it over," she mutters.<br>"Alright," I whisper, satisfied as I place the chocolate in her palm.  
>I glance at Dad. He holds my eye contact, pursing his lips. But I move my mouth into a small smile, granting Oliver's wish.<br>Dad almost looks startled by my cooperation, but when he gets over it he smiles back, wider than I think he meant to. Without a word, he nods and turns around again to keep walking, Michonne following just behind.  
>I watch them for a moment, raising the chocolate to my mouth and eating it. The chocolaty taste reminding me of the pudding, reminding me of him.<br>Michonne looks back to me, motioning me to follow as she holds her arm out and smiles.  
>"<em>I'd still want you to smile," Oliver said.<em> So I do. I smile back at Michonne, and begin walking again.  
>I hope he's smiling as well. Even though he's gone... even though he is dead. I want him to be okay, too. Just like he wanted me to be.<p>

**Oliver's POV**

"Grazelda!"  
>I hear the excited call of Lizzie from outside, presumably playing with the doll Mika found yesterday. I look up to Carol as she places the kettle on the stove to boil. She leans on the cooker, smiling as she glances out the window to Lizzie, who I can still hear playing.<br>But then I spot the red haired doll resting on Mika's lap and my brow furrows in confusion. _Wait... who's Lizzie playing with if the doll is with Mika?_  
>But I jump when Carol suddenly gasps and launches herself out of the kitchen. "Lizzie!" she murmurs frantically, slamming the front door open and running out.<br>I grab Judith from my lap and protectively clutch her to my chest, before rushing after the spooked woman, Mika close behind me.  
>"Lizzie! GET AWAY FROM IT!" Carol orders from outside as I hear her charging across the lawn.<em>From what?<em> My mind spins as I push open the front door that had swung closed behind Carol.  
>But then I gasp as I see what Carol is so afraid of. It's a walker! Lizzie stands in front of it, with her arms up to Carol submissively as the woman charges for her.<br>My heart pounds in my chest and I am sure that Judith can feel it. "Lizzie!" I yell as the hairs stand on end over my neck and arms.  
>"No! No, no!" the child begs, letting the walker get closer and closer to her.<br>"Right now, Lizzie!" Carol yells again, sprinting to her with her knife in hand.  
>But Lizzie doesn't try to get away, even as the walker continues to chase her. "No!" she cries, trying to stop Carol. "No! No!"<br>My head spins as adrenaline courses through me, and I can feel Judith reacting to my fear as her heart beat pounds against my chest too.  
>"LIZZIE!" Carol screams, shoving the child to the floor just as the walker is about to lunge at her. I watch, grabbing my gun from the back of my jeans and readying myself to fire it, but Carol pins the walker to the floor and drives her knife through its forehead. Killing it.<br>"NO!" Lizzie screams, so loudly and desperately that my ear drums rattle in my head, making me wince.  
>"Lizzie?" Mika gasps, about to rush after her sister.<br>But I stop her. Clutching Judith to me with one hand I use my other to grab Mika's arm, hooking her frail bicep with my fingers as I try to keep hold of my gun. She almost slips out of my grasp as she struggles, but I pull her again, preventing her from leaving the house. "Mika, take Judith and go back inside," I command.  
>"She was playing with me! She wanted a friend!" Lizzie cries behind us and I glance over my shoulder at her.<br>"She wanted to kill you!" Carol retorts, kneeling down in front of the walker and Lizzie.  
>"I was gonna lead her away!"<br>Mika hesitates, wanting to help her sister. "Mika! Go. Now!" I bark, distressed by Lizzie's behaviour and knowing that Mika shouldn't be here to see it.  
>She glares at me for a moment. "Mika!" I hiss at her.<br>Finally, she relents, taking Judith from me like I asked and rushing back inside of the house to Tyreese. I spin around and rush off the porch to Lizzie and Carol.  
>"You could've died!" Carol yells at her.<br>I stop a few yards away when Lizzie looks at me, her eyes wide and mortified. "It's the same thing!" she screams at me, and then glances to Carol. "It's the same THING! YOU KILLED HER! YOU KILLED HER! IT'S THE SAME THING!"  
>"Lizzie," Carol pants, overwhelmed by how wrong everything is that Lizzie is saying.<br>Lizzie glares at me, pointing a finger and furious. "WHAT IF I KILLED YOU!? WHAT IF I KILLED YOU!?" Her screams erupt from her frail body and she doubles over, wailing for the walker, her face contorted and delusional.  
>I step back instinctively, staring at her and unable to process why she is thinking like this.<br>"Lizzie," Carol hisses, scolding her for her threat to me.  
>But the distraught child continues to sob at the walker, shaking and staring down at it's rotting corps, hopeless and devastated.<br>"Lizzie?" Carol whispers, trying to be comforting now.  
>"You don't understand... You don't understand. You don't understand!" Lizzie's frustration and anger builds and her body begins to shake so badly that she seems to convulse. She bawls up her fists and she doubles over again, crumpling in her fury, and then, a moment later, exploding with it. "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!"<br>"Lizzie," Carol repeats, trying desperately to calm her, and opening her mouth to say something else.  
>"You didn't have to. You didn't have to!" Lizzie interrupts, drawing in a sharp and loud breath as she tries to straighten her posture, but she folds again under her own delirium. "She didn't wanna hurt anybody. She only wanted a friend!"<br>"Lizzie, it tried to kill you," I try, panting as my brow arches in worry.  
>But Lizzie screams at me. "NO! She WOULDN'T hurt anybody!" she cries, making me almost stumble backwards. But I hold my ground, gulping the lump in my throat. Lizzie glares at me, but when I stay silent she turns to Carol again, shaking her fists in front of her chest in rage. "An' you killed 'er! YOU KILLED 'ER! YOU KILLED 'ER!" I watch helplessly as Lizzie falls to her knees, crying hysterically over the walker. "She was my friend!" she sobs, dipping her head and resting it on the rotten walker's chest.<br>Carol pants, exchanging a glance with me. But I just stare at her, my mouth open and struggling to draw in my breath, the stress getting to my pathetic lungs again. But I have no explanation for Carol. I have no idea what is happening in Lizzie's mind right now to cause her to become so unhinged...

No one does.

**Notes**

I was gonna say, "Look! No one cried in this chapter..." But... hmm... I guess I was wrong...

Well... looks like Oliver wasn't exactly smiling at that moment, huh? Okay, so I'm really starting to hate how my chapters are ending on a really 'not good' note, it's getting old and as I write it is making me want to kill something! But, the next chappy will end on a slightly higher note, more for my mental benefit that anything else, but yeah.

Hope ya'll enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a little review on your way out to tell me of your thoughts :)

Favourite part(s)?  
>Worst part(s)?<br>Helpful criticism is truly appreciated :D

Preview: In the next chappy, Oliver, Mika and Carol go on a hunting trip, but despite the practice the teenager has had over the last week, he is still pretty much the shittiest shot in Georgia... Anyway, he is also pretty sentimental, and is determined to give Mika and Lizzie a proper childhood, without death and Walker Grazelda Gunderson, so a game of Eye Spy should just about suffice, right? ;D

Happy reading xx :_)_


	25. Chapter 25 Eye Spy With My Little Eye

**Eli-XD-O ** Judy is awesome, isn't she!

I'm gonna upload four chapters today, so, this is the second. Two more to go :) Then tomorrow, Carl and Oliver will be back together :)

**Oliver's POV**

Lizzie didn't stop crying. She wept over that walker's body for too long, and in the end it was Tyreese who lifted her weak and distraught form from the earth and carried her back into the house.  
>She won't talk to us. She's just been in her room.<br>"Give 'er time," Carol says gently to me as I lean on the bedroom door. I was trying to coax Lizzie to open it for me, to let me in to talk to her, maybe finish the puzzle together or something.  
>I give Carol a sad look and nod. Swallowing my dry throat. I am still wheezing a little, but it's not bad enough to take my inhaler so I have decided to just wait for my breathing to settle on its own. "Do you wan't me to go fetch some water?" I ask.<br>Carol shakes her head and motions me to follow her. "No. You're comin' huntin' with me and Mika. Ty'll stay with Judy and Lizzie," she says.  
>Carol goes into the kitchen to Mika who is waiting for us. The woman grabs her rifle and hands it to the child. "Oliver? Could you help 'er?" she asks, motioning to Mika and the weapon because Carol knows that I can prepare a rifle from her classes.<br>I nod and help Mika load up the rifle and hold it properly, making sure that it is comfortable enough for her small frame, while Carol heads into her own bedroom.  
>"Thanks," Mika smiles at me, though I can see that she is still worried for her sister. I give her a reassuring smile and pat her on the shoulder.<br>"Here," Carol says behind me, emerging from her room. I look at her, seeing what looks like a tangled mass of leather as she holds it out to me in her hands. "It's a holster. Found it in the cupboard and figured you could use it. Put it on and put your gun in it."  
>"Thanks," I say, taking the holster and untangling it, before fitting it around my waist and placing my glock into it.<br>And with that, the three of us head out to The Grove.

We've been out for almost an hour, roaming around the property to see if we can find any critters. I saw a squirrel a few minutes ago, perched on top of the outhouse, but to my complete embarrassment... I left the safety on... and when I pulled the trigger it didn't even fire. The damned squirrel practically laughed in my face before disappearing into a pecan tree. Carol and Mika were humane, and managed to keep their smirks subtle, but I was mortified. **_Yeah... not the best hunter in the world, are you Oliver?_** _I never said I was._ **_No, and I can see why. You're terrible! Daryl would laugh in your face, just like the damn squirrel!_** I roll my eyes at myself, still feeling my cheeks burning.  
>"Is it too heavy?" Carol asks Mika as I walk beside them.<br>"Nah," Mika shakes her head, holding the too-large-for-her-tiny-child-form-to-properly-carry rifle. "I'm good."  
>I smile a little, kind of feeling a strange brotherly proud-ness of Mika for how mature she has become since The Prison.<br>"Fire's still burning," she states a little while later.  
>I look up to the cloud, seeing the dark and narrow stem of smoke still floating up to the sky, kind of reminding me of the candle in <em>'Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn'<em> "Climb the thin tower of smoke, linger at its top a moment, and then..." We never got further than that in Story Time, but I read a few more chapters the day Michonne arrived. But for the life of me I can't remember how it continued._Maybe... 'and then dispersed into the air and been carried along the sky, free at last'?_ I don't know. But it really doesn't matter anyway.  
>"Coulda gone out," Carol says.<br>"Nope," Mika takes the words from my mouth. "The smoke's black. If it was white the fire wouldn't be burning anymore."  
>Carol and I raise our brows, impressed that Mika knew what she was talking about. "What a Brain Box," I say in jest.<br>Mika elbows me in the arm playfully and breaths a chuckle. "I miss science class," she says happily, but then she grimaces slightly. "Except when we had to do stuff like... cut up planarian worms."  
>Carol's expression straitens. "You gotta do worse than that nowa days, Mika," she says gently.<br>My expression drops too, wincing a little as my mind trails to the man I murdered, remembering his crushed skull and brain matter under my sneaker.  
>"I don't gotta," Mika says, snapping me from my intrusive thoughts. I shake my head slightly to clear it and look at her in silent disagreement.<br>"You do," Carol protests, bringing us to stop. "Lizzie's bigger than you an' in some ways she's stronger... but you're smarter, an' you understand these... _things_. You gotta look out for 'er," she says empathetically. She turns to keep walking. "You have to-" But Carol freezes and holds her arm out to stop me and Mika. She watches something ahead of us, so I crane my head to look.  
>It's another deer.<br>We watch it for a moment as it grazes on the grass, oblivious to our presence.  
>Mika goes to hand the rifle to me, losing her confidence. "No, this is yours, Mika," I whisper to her. She watches me, silently begging I do it for her, but I don't relent. In all honesty Mika has a better chance of getting a decent shot that my shitty aim ever will. "You can do it."<br>Mika glances to her other side to get help from Carol instead, but The Woman shakes her head like I did. "Go ahead, you do it. Just like I showed you at The Prison. Go ahead," she encourages.  
>Realising at she has no other option, Mika reluctantly takes aim at the animal. But I furrow my brow in worry when I see how badly she is shaking. The rifle jolts uneasily with her hands as her elbows knock and her breathing hitches. <em>Jeeze.<em> **_Is she okay?_**  
>A long time passes, and no shot rings out.<br>Then, Mika lowers the rifle, turning timidly to Carol. "I can't," she tells her.  
>I watch as the deer wanders off into the tree cover. I look back to Carol, seeing her giving Mika a slightly disappointed look.<br>"Well, w-we still have all those peaches, and the pecans," I say, trying to ease the tension.  
>Carol cocks an eyebrow at me, before brushing off her dismay and pursing her lips empathetically at Mika. "C'mon," she says quietly, motioning us to go back to the house.<br>Mika waits for me as I sling my arm over her shoulder, raising my other hand to pull at my beanie. "It's okay. You'll get there one day. Everything works out the way it's suppose to, right?" I comfort her quietly, repeating what she told me this morning.  
>Mika nods, before leaning her head on my side and extending her stride to match my own as we walk a little way behind Carol.<p>

_~ Late Noon ~_

Carol and Tyreese had gone out to get water and left me with the three girls. Judith is sleeping in Carol's room. Tyreese found a wooden baby cot. It's one that sways slightly and it looks really comfortable, I think Judith would agree... because to say the least, Judith was out of it as soon as I started to rock it for her. Lizzie is in our bedroom still, apparently she hasn't left yet after her scare earlier.  
>"Do you know how to play Eye Spy?" I ask Mika as we sit on the rug in front of the fire.<br>Mika rests Grazelda in her lap and looks up at me. "I'm not sure. I've only seen kids play it in movies, well, what I remember of 'em at least," Mika answers. "Why?"  
>"I was trying to play it with Lizzie the day we got here, while we were waiting for you and Carol with the water... but she didn't know how to play it properly," I tell her.<br>"Hm, no, I don't know how to play," Mika confirms.  
>"Do you know hide and seek?" I ask.<br>Mika shakes her head no._What? She's kidding, right?!_  
>"Charades?"<br>Again, Mika shakes her head, a smile spreading over her lips at how devastated I must look.  
>"Marco Polo?" I ask, getting kind of desperate now.<br>Mika giggles at me and shakes her head again. "Sorry."  
>I furrow my brow.<br>I know that she must have been only 7 or 8 when this all went downhill, but she must have played these games before that? **_Maybe... but I'm guessing growing up in the apocalypse so young tends to make a child forget the small things in life._** _Jesus! These games were my childhood! I couldn't imagine it without them... That's it. I don't care if we live in the damned apocalypse, I am giving these girls some kind of cheesy, stereotypical, childhood memories if kills me!_  
>I stand up from the table and grab Mika's hand. "Come on," I say, gently pulling her to follow me.<br>"Oliver. What're we doin'?" she giggles, running along beside me to keep up with my rushed walking as I head to our room.  
>"<em>We!<em>" I begin dramatically, though staying quiet enough to make sure I don't disturb the sleeping baby down the hallway, "are gonna go get your sister! And then I'm gonna teach you both how to be _real _kids! And we are gonna have a _real_ game of Eye Spy!" As 'serious' as I am, Mika doesn't stop laughing. I don't think I've never heard her laugh so much!  
>I get to mine and the girl's bedroom door, grinning as I knock on the wooden surface with my free hand, still holding Mika's small hand with my other. "Lizzie?" I call through the door. But after a few seconds, I don't hear anything.<br>I push open the door and Mika and I lean into it. But Lizzie isn't in here. It's empty. Our expressions drop. "Oh, shit," falls from my mouth and a course of adrenaline surges through me. "Sorry, Mika," I apologise for my language.  
>"Where is she?" Mika asks worriedly, rushing into the room and checking under the bed. But the room really is empty. I rush out, Mika following me as I go to Carol's room. I open the door but I only find a still sleeping Judith in her cot, purring away.<br>"Check around the house," I tell Mika quietly, and she rushes out of the room and into some other rooms.  
>I check the basement and the kitchen and even the attic, but Lizzie is no where. "The window was open," Mika tells me. "Do you think she climbed out?"<br>I don't answer, and instead rush to the front door. But I slide into it by accident, worry making me clumsy as I slam myself against the door handle. The shooting pain erupts over my side from the healing cut. "Ouch," I groan, but I ignore it and stand up again, quickly swinging the screen door open.  
>"Lizzie?" Mika calls as she follows me onto the porch.<br>I spot The Eldest Samuel Sister outside of the fence, checking over her shoulder as she carries a shoe box across The Grove. But she doesn't see us and just keeps going, disappearing past the outhouse.  
>"Come on," I urge, breaking into a jog as we follow Lizzie out of the property, adrenaline easing the throb in my side.<br>It seems like Lizzie is running too, because as we get past the outhouse, I only just spot her disappear behind the tree line heading back to the tracks.  
>"Where is she going?" Mika asks irriatbly, taking out her gun.<br>I don't answer because I don't have one that makes sense, so instead, I take out my own gun and we just keep running. Over the painful-yet-improving ache from my injuries, I can feel my dread building as my breathing becomes a little laboured, and the hairs on my neck stand on end despite the fact that I am breaking a sweat.  
>We find the tracks, looking exactly the same as we left it. I grimace as I hear the growling of the walker Tyreese had left here yesterday. But when my sight follows the noise, also hearing chuckling by this time, I gasp in shock.<br>Lizzie!  
>Mika suddenly grips my hand tightly when she sees her too, knelt right in front of the walker, holding her hand out to it. I see the little grey mouse, squirming and squealing as she holds it from the base of its tail and hovers it in front of the walker's snapping jaws.<br>**_Oh, no. She's not... She wouldn't..._** But she does. Lizzie feeds the tiny rodent to the walker. And Mika flinches, gasping and grabbing my hand with both of hers, clinging to me instinctively as the small, frail bones crunch and snap between the walker's rotten teeth.  
>"Don't worry... I'll get you more," Lizzie comforts it, and the walker growls and gargles in what she seems to presume is a response.<br>"Lizzie?" Mika calls fearfully.  
>She glances at us and purses her lips, neither in greeting or remorse, just a simple gesture to wait for us to say something.<br>"Lizzie, what're you doing?" I ask, breathing heavily and giving the walker worried glances as it snaps its jaw too close for comfort at Lizzie's leg.  
>She opens her mouth to answer me, but Mika interrupts her. "When we were giving them names," she tells Lizzie, and I remember the walkers they were playing with at the fences back at The Prison, when they were calling one 'Nick', giving me an uneasy feeling in my gut, "we were just pretending things weren't bad. Things are bad... those things they're bad. They are! We can't pretend any more."<br>"I'm not pretending," Lizzie protests, watching the walker protectively. "You were," she looks at her sister. "I know... I can hear them."  
>I stare from her to the walker incredulously. <em>Well what the fuck is it telling you now?<em> **_Oliver, don't. She means it. There's something not right about Lizzie and you being a sarcastic ass hole isn't going to help her._**  
>I purse my lips and go to reach down to help Lizzie stand, but again, Mika's anger takes over her. "They wanna kill you!" she barely keeps from shouting.<br>Lizzie shakes her head. "They just want me to change. Make me be like them," she sits up a little and moves closer to the walker.  
>"Lizzie," I urge, stepping towards her.<br>But Lizzie doesn't listen and extends her arm to the walker's snapping teeth. "Maybe I should chan-"  
>"Stop it!" I hiss, jumping forwards and wrenching her hand away. I glare at her, grimacing in my confusion. "What the hell're you doing?"<br>I let go of her, thinking that she will answer me. But she goes back to it, holding out her hand out and aiming to it's jaw. "I can make you all understand," she mutters.  
>"Lizzie!" Mika barks.<br>Before either child moves another centimetre, I refuse to bear this anymore and grab The Eldest Sister's shoulders, pulling her away from it.  
>"Oliver, no! Stop!" Lizzie cries, as if I am doing something to hurt her.<br>"Do you have a death wish?!" I hiss in frustration, but something tells me that I already know the answer and it makes my hands shake as I hold Lizzie back from going to the walker again.  
>But my ears pick up rustling. I dart my head to look, startling when I see a singed and burnt walker stumble out of the tree line. My eyes widen and my breath hitches. "Walker!" I alarm.<br>Mika and Lizzie yelp, and the youngest sister begins to back away, wanting to retreat back to The Grove. But Lizzie doesn't move!  
>"Lizzie, they're coming!" Mika yells at her sister.<br>I grab my gun and take aim, about to shoot, but my mouth falls open as 3 more walkers spill out of the tree line, quickening their dead pace as they see us. And then another 4! _Shit! Me and Mika can't take them all alone!_ Lizzie still hasn't moved though!  
>"Lizzie!" I shout, grabbing her arm and pulling her to stand. Finally, with a gasp of shock, she snaps out of her daze and sprints with me and Mika down the track.<br>The walkers chase us, growling and all burnt to a crisp with smoke still coming out of their blackened, charred skin. I can smell them, and I instantly know that they must have been in the fire that caused the smoke. Lizzie and Mika keep running along the train track, but I know that unless we turn off now we will get caught by the walkers as we try to double back to The Grove.  
>I bring myself to a screeching halt, grabbing the back of both of their tops to get them to stop too. "Lizzie! Mika! This way!" I shout at them.<br>They spin around and pelt into the tree line with me. But the short stop has caused the walkers to gain on us. My heart pounds as I run, gripping my gun and readying myself to shoot any walkers that get too close.  
>But then a walker grabs at the back of Mika's tee and she lets out an ear splitting scream as it rips into the fabric.<p>

**PKOW!**

To my amazement, my bullet travels through it's brain and it falls to the floor behind Mika, dead. "GO!" I bellow to them both as I shove Mika back to her feet and run after them.  
>And they do. The wire fence into The Grove is still closed, so Mika and Lizzie launch themselves through, knowing that if they took the time to open it properly they would get caught. I aim to hurtle through behind Mika, but in her rush she snags her leggings on the barbed wire and stumbles to the ground with her leg still suspended, stuck to the fence.<br>I fumble to untangle the fabric, hearing the walkers as they growl for our flesh. But I'm not fast enough. The walker grabs me by the back of my shirt, somehow missing me with it's overgrown claws as it shoves me towards it's rotting face. My gun flies out of my hand as I am wrenched to the ground. Somehow letting out a curse as it happens. But I fight against it, seeing another burnt walker as it comes to join it's friend in grabbing me. "Agh!" I grunt, kicking the first walker in the face and managing to create some distance between my leg and it's mouth.  
>I reach for my weapon and manage to grab it again. I take aim. But I was wrong about one thing. The second walker didn't come for me, it went for Mika. She screams as it grabs her foot and violently pulls her to its mouth. Lizzie tries to help her sister but they are both too weak. Without thinking about it, but knowing this will most likely end my own life, I aim my gun at the second walker instead, still holding back the first with a foot on each of it's crumbling shoulders as it brutally fights to eat me.<br>I pull the trigger.  
>The walker falls to the floor with a hole through it's ear and into its brain. Dead. It releases Mika's leg, letting Lizzie grab her terrified sister and pull her up. I look back at the walker on me, seeing it about to take a chunk out of my ankle. I rush to take aim and then pull the trigger.<p>

_CLICK. . ._  
><em>CLICK. . .<em>

My heart stops, almost as if it is trying to end my life before I am killed. _Fuck! I've run out of rounds!_ I try to scramble away from the walker, as two more close in on me. I scrunch my eyes shut in terror, anticipating the rotten teeth when they sink into my flesh, infecting me with the virus that will burn through my veins.  
>But that doesn't happen.<p>

**BANG!**

It's head suddenly explodes at a gunshot, splattering it's black, gritty blood in my face. I snap my eyes open, rolling the corps off of me and scurrying away on my back. I hear running... living people running!  
>"GET BEHIND US!" Carol bellows, shooting again at another walker as it makes for me.<br>I clamber to my feet, adrenaline numbing my injuries as I leap through the fence and line up beside Carol and Tyreese.  
>Tyreese hands me a magazine, and without hesitating, I load my glock and we all shoot. One by one killing the walkers as they try to get to us. The drop to the earth like rocks, and the noise is deafening. But after a tense moment, they begin to thin out, our 5 guns against maybe 15 walkers proving to give us our advantage. We can do this! I keep shooting, taking no more that 2 shots per walker to get them down, better than I did at The Prison, but still pretty pitiful, especially compared to Mika and Lizzie who take their walkers down with only one shot almost every time... which though I won't ever admit, is still kind of emasculating.<br>The final walker goes down from Lizzie's bullet. But even though the gunfire has stopped, the noise echoes through the woods for a few seconds after. We all stand there, panting and rigid as we stare at the battle we have just won.  
>Lizzie hiccups and Carol wraps her arms around her. "It's okay. You did it," she coos.<br>Mika leans on me and I put my hand on her shoulder to comfort her, squeezing when I feel her shaking.  
>Without another word, we all head back to the house, too out of breath and adrenaline pumped to use words yet.<br>When we get inside, Mika still leaning on me, I leave my holster and gun on the table as Lizzie takes a seat in front of it, staring into nothing and losing herself in her thoughts. She won't talk, so Carol goes to check on Judith, deciding to leave Lizzie alone for now.  
>Tyreese pats Lizzie's shoulder before going to light the fire. It 'fwoomps' to life. But then, when Tyreese stands. He freezes and his eyes fix on me, suddenly making the whole room cold despite the warm fire<br>I almost startle, staring at him as his eyes widen and breath hitches. I think for a moment that he is about to scold me for letting Mika and Lizzie leave the compound, and I open my mouth to apologise. But he speaks before I can say anything. But his words are raspy and filled with terror, making my blood go as cold as the room.  
>"Oh no..." he mutters.<br>His eyes fix on my stomach and I shakily follow his gaze. I look down. _No..._ My eyes widen as I see the crimson circle spreading over my grey short sleeve. "No no no no," I mutter, dread and horror surging through my veins and threatening to engulf me completely. I claw at my shirt, desperately trying to rub the warm and growing blood away. As if it will do anything now.  
>Mika pulls away and gasps, tears falling from her eyes the instant she sees the growing scarlet, her face contorts and she clasps her hands to her mouth. "Were you bit?" she asks desperately, her voice cracking and cutting through the air like a knife.<br>Adrenaline poisons me. I grab the hem of my top and pull it up. _Oh God!_ I almost collapse with relief. It's not a bite. But the movement and strain from earlier has caused my cut to break open and it's bleeding again pretty badly. I watch, making a chocking noise, an indescribably noise that I would find funny in any other circumstance. I exhale tightly, flooded with relief and worry as a thick stream of my blood runs under the loose, reddened bandage and soaks into the hem of my jeans.  
>"Dammit," I mutter, trying to wipe the blood, but it is running too fast and as soon as I wipe it away it replaces itself even faster, only resulting in the red getting all over my hands.<br>Carol crashes into the living room. "Where you bit?" Carol begs, kneeling in front of me and frantically looking at my injury. No doubt she heard Mika. And the state I am in with the blood all over my abdomen and hands doesn't help her terror.  
>"No, I'm okay. It's just my- Ow!" I wince as she lifts my bandage, and she lets go immediately and stands up with an apologetic look on her face, but she looks more relieved, as a cut is definitely better than a bite. I curve my lips into an as reassuring smile as I can muster in such a situation. "No, it's just my stupid cut."<br>She looks like she will sob with relief. But she takes my shoulder instead and forces a smile to reassure me. "It's okay. Oh, I was so scared. C'mon... let's go get you patched up," she says, shaking her head slightly to clear it of her thoughts.  
>I nod and follow her to the bathroom.<br>She unwraps the bandage and discards it, before cleaning the would and using disinfectant on it. I wince badly, but I bear it. She does the same with my temple and cut on my lip, but they don't hurt nearly as badly. She doesn't bother to do anything with my hands because they are healed now, with only a few small, wavy scars scattered all over them.  
>Carol goes and grabs a clean shirt from her bedroom and spends a few moments ripping and cutting it to size, before wrapping it around me. But I flinch. Feeling my heart beat palpitate in fear when she has to lean closer and move her arms around me to adjust the bandage around my middle. Without wanting to and hating myself for doing it, I step away, gulping back the lump in my throat as Dan's voice mutters those words inside of my head. <em>"<em>_Stop your squirming."_ I shake my head, trying to clear it as his words repeat themselves, ringing through my ears and making me shake.  
>"Oliver?" Carol whispers me back to reality, humanely letting go as she watches my emotional turmoil in worry.<br>"Sorry," I whimper like a child, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth as my stomach does flips. "I'm sorry."  
>Carol shakes her head. "You're okay," she reassures me, waiting patiently for me to settle. "You're okay, Oliver. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'd never hurt you."<br>I take deep breaths, letting Carol's words reassure me until I can nod. "I know," I say truthfully, meeting her gaze again and bringing myself to step forward. "I know."  
>Slowly, Carol lifts her hands and continues with my bandage, wrapping it around me securely and waiting with that outstanding patience of hers, whenever I involuntarily wince or feel too uncomfortable.<br>"There. You should heal alright now. Jus' take it easy all right?" she says gently, pursing her lips into a smile.  
>"Thank you," I say, trying to smile back. I hate that I am still so afraid. I hate Dan for doing this to me. But I am so grateful for Carol, Tyreese too. I adore and truly respect them both with all of my heart. Tyreese is a great role model, and Carol is as good as a mother to me. It makes me so angry that I am such a burden to them both. They gave me one joy to do today; look after the girls, and I screwed it up. I wound myself up like this, Mika scared out of her wits and Lizzie catatonic and refusing to talk to anyone. "Carol... I'm sorry I let them leave. I know you trusted me to look after them."<br>Carol offers me a comforting smile. "It's all right. They're kids. They're gonna run off. We should just be glad no one got..." she falters, realising that what she is about to say isn't true. "no one died," she changes her statement.  
>I smirk, sadistically amused by the irony and worrying myself from it a little. But my smile fades a little, remembering why Lizzie went out there in the first place. Carol dips her head to look at me, noticing my mood. "It's not your fault, Oliver..." she adds. "You know? Did anyone ever tell you how much Carl used to sneak out o' the house?"<br>My heart aches as she says his name and all the sadness that I have been trying so hard to bottle fights to be recognised. I nod. "Hershel did, once," I say, as another wave of guilt washes over me for my old friend. But I do well to keep my expression straight.  
>Carol tilts her head, and the corners of her eyes crinkle a little, noticing my sadness even with the front I am putting up. "I'm sorry..." she apologises, pausing a moment. "You meant a lot to that boy. He looked up to you. At The Prison, he'd talk about you all the time."<br>I look at her, pursing my lips.  
>"And I know he means a lot to you, too," she pauses for a long time, saying her next words carefully and slowly. "You loved him, didn't you?" she says gently.<br>I nod, without hesitating or caring what type of love she means. Because I know what type of love I felt towards Carl... that I still, and forever will feel towards him.  
>Carol smiles softly for a long moment, before nudging my hand. "C'mon, Sweetie," she says, walking out of the bathroom.<br>"Carol?" I begin, knowing that I have to tell her about what I saw Lizzie doing.  
>Carol turns to me, but I hesitate. "Oliver? Oliver, what is it?"<br>**_Oliver, tell her._** _I don't know if I should. Maybe today was just a one time thing?_ **_What are you talking about. That doesn't matter, you need to tell Carol._** _You sound like Carl._ **_Hey, fuck you._**I sigh, twiddling my thumbs as I fight with my conscience, but relenting to it. "Lizzie - when me and Mika found her... she was at the tracks... Carol, she was f-"  
>"Carol?" Tyreese interrupts me, calling from the kitchen.<br>"Just a minute," Carol answers.  
>She glances back at me, but I shake my head, suddenly not having the nerve to tell her. "It doesn't matter. I'm... uh, I'm just being paranoid," I try to joke, motioning Carol to go ahead and tend to whatever Tyreese wanted.<br>Carol smiles gratefully. "Alright," she says, turning to leave. But she stops and quickly turns to me again, almost bumping into me as I was about to follow her, but I step back just before she stands on my toes. "Listen, go change out of your clothes and wash 'em. Ty found some smaller clothes for you – they'll still be too big, but it'll just be to wear for tonight until your clothes dry again, okay?" she says.  
>I nod. "Thanks. I'll do that now," I say gladly.<br>Carol goes to Tyreese, as I head into his bedroom and change into the oversized clothes he found for me; a white, loose, long sleeve top and some black, stretchy pyjama bottoms, before going into the kitchen to clean my usual clothes with a bucket of water Carol said I could use.  
>When I finish, and have hung my wet clothes up to dry in my bedroom, I take a seat on the couch next to Mika, facing the fire and letting it warm me up a little.<br>Lizzie is still not saying anything, staring into space as she sits, shaking at the table with the unfinished jigsaw puzzle and my holster in front of her. I watch her for a moment, chewing my lip.**_Should have told Carol._** _I know._ **_Feel guilty yet?_** _But... maybe if we just give Lizzie time._ **_You didn't answer the question._** _She'll realise. She'll learn._ **_Not an answer either._**_It's not unheard of for kids to go against the rules like Lizzie did._ _Even_ _I'd be lying if I said that I had never teased one or twowalkers_ _through windows,_ _or_ _yelled_ _at them from rooftops with Patrick. Maybe it's just part of being a kid now._ _And look at Carl; when he messed with that walker when he was a kid._ **_Yeah. And look where that go him..._** _But... it won't turn out like that though._**_Maybe, but I think Carol would much rather know about it_** **_anyway._**  
>I stare into the fire, pushing my thoughts to the back of my head and relaxing into the worn couch, tiredly rubbing my bandage to subdue the aching in my opened wound. Mika leans on me, snuggling into my good side as I drape my other arm over her shoulder. Her breathing begins to slow and I can tell that she is exhausted, proven, because soon she simply falls asleep on me.<p>

A little while later, when it has gotten dark and our only light source is from the flames of the fire and the lanterns, Tyreese returns from the kitchen, having spent the time in there with Carol sorting out the water. The man tries to talk to Lizzie, but the girl barely acknowledges him, so he gives up and plops himself in the armchair that he has kind of taken for his own now, since no one else has sat in it since we got here.  
>Pretty soon he falls asleep too. I'm surprised that I am not sleepy, but I think after today, sleep is going to be hard to come by for a few more hours at least. Despite this though, without realising, I do begin to slip off into unconsciousness, settling into Mika's warmth and not noticing my head drooping slightly more as every moment passes. And I am only snapped out of my daze again when Mika moves her head to look at me.<br>I jolt awake, drawing in a sharp breath through my nose and raising my brow. "M-morning," I mumble, disorientated and trying to pretend that I wasn't asleep at all.  
>Mika smirks at me in amusement, before moving herself from under my arm and going to sit on the floor to play with Grazelda Gunderson - the doll, thankfully... not the walker.<br>"I had to help stop them."  
>I almost startle at Lizzie's voice a minute or so later and dart my head to look at her.<br>Carol exchanges a glance at me, then looks back to Lizzie again. "Do you understand what they are now?"  
>Lizzie gulps a little, staring in front of her. "I know," she begins, turning to look at Carol. "I know what I have to do now. I know," she says. "<em>I know.<em>"  
>Carol purses her lips, before looking at me and arching her brow slightly in empathy. I look away, knowing that I should tell her now. But I can't bring myself to. Lizzie looks so distraught, I don't want to add to that right now by telling Carol about the mouse. I reach to pull at my beanie only to realise that it is still drying in my bedroom, before looking back to her again and nervously chewing my upper lip.<br>Carol looks at Lizzie and tenses her mouth. "It's ugly. An' it's scary. An' it _does_ change you..."  
>There is a long pause, and I think of everything that I have been through since this started. How I have had to deal with the trauma of losing my real family, and then the guilt and sorrow of losing my new one, and how without them, I could have so easily lost myself more than imaginable along the way. It's too easy to become a monster now, and if you let it, it can happen to everyone. Just like it did with those Claimers...<br>"But that's how we get to be here. That's, the cost. That's growing up now," Carol finishes.  
>"I don't wanna hurt anyone," Mika mews gently. "I don't wanna be mean."<br>"You have to be sometimes," Lizzie comforts her sister. Batting her eyelids innocently. "But jus' sometimes."  
>She looks at me and lets a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. I return it, glad that she is finally coming to terms with how we have to live now. With no Prison or big metal fences to protect us, she needs to realise what has to be done to protect the people she cares about. And it seems that she finally might be. <strong><em>Maybe you won't have to worry about earlier after all...<em>**  
>Tyreese begins mumbling in his sleep again, but we don't wake him, knowing enough now to just let him ride his nightmares out on his own.<br>"You know," Carol says, "we got _a lot_ o' pecans here."  
>"Tonne," Lizzie jokes quietly.<br>"You getting' sick of 'em yet?" Carol asks all of us.  
>"Nope," Mika grins.<br>"I am," I say truthfully, missing the fruit from the garden a little.  
>"Oliver, you're so picky," Mika jokes, earning a chuckle from me and Carol.<br>"C'mon, let's roast 'em," the woman says.  
>I try to hide my reluctance as I pull myself off the couch, because all my body wants to do right now is sleep. But I walk with Mika to the kitchen after Carol and Lizzie. We crack open as many pecans as we can fit onto the baking tray. I think Lizzie is finding the nut cracker a little difficult because she keeps clumsily cracking them open to roughly, causing the pieces to fly everywhere. But it makes us laugh, so no one takes the nut cracker away from her.<br>"I used to make these with my grandma when I was little," Carol tells us.  
>I search for the edible parts of the pecan that Lizzie had just exploded across the table and hand them to Mika. She smiles as she dips them into the sugar and ground cinnamon that we found in the cupboards, before placing them on the tray. "They smell good," she says truthfully, because the bitter sweetness of the pecans are definitely better than the burning-people smell of those rotting walkers from earlier that is still lingering in the night air. Tyreese said that he would remove their bodies tomorrow morning.<br>"There you go," Carol praises us. "All right. I think you guys are ready to start doin' the cooking around here..." She takes the tray to the oven, glancing at me expectantly as she turns around.  
>I smirk and shake my head doubtfully. "Don't look at me. I'll burn the place down," I joke, raising my brow as I lean over the table with my arms crossed.<br>Carol grins knowingly. I was never a good cook. In fact, I'm terrible. Even at The Prison. Patrick and Carol controlled the cooking aspect of the kitchen. All I was good for was serving, washing up and occasionally cutting up some fruit and vegetables… which isn't very promising, evident from the scar that I still have on my palm from cutting myself at Penelope's all those years ago when we were making the salad for her family.  
>"Who wants to put 'em in?" Carol grins at the girls, looking to them for help instead.<br>Mika and Lizzie leap from their stools. "Me!" Mika exclaims, taking the tray from Carol and helping to put it in the oven. Due to the fact that I don't trust myself to cook, I'm given the responsibility of Time Keeping, and so every 20 minutes, I check the pecans until I decide they are cooked enough.

_~ After Their Meal ~_

The Roasted Pecans were amazing. Not pudding or grapes. But still awesome. When all five of us have had our fill, we get ready for bed. I feed Judith her formula while Carol helps get the girls dressed into some pyjamas she found for them, they are too small for both Mika and Lizzie, but neither of the two complain.  
>Again, I take Judith in with me and the girls to our bedroom. But I don't tell Carol that I will take the baby back to her later, because we both know that I will forget like I did yesterday. But like I knew she wouldn't, Carol doesn't protest and just smiles and waves us goodnight.<br>The girls insisted they stay up for a little while, but I know that they are both exhausted. So to compromise, I tell them I will teach them Eye Spy. But the catch is that we all have to stay in bed while we play it, in the hopes that the two will fall asleep eventually.  
>So, using the light from a candle I lit earlier for our only light source, we all get into the double bed. Lizzie beside me to my left closest to the window, me sat up with Judith cradled in my arms and Mika curled up to my right. I quietly explain how the game works, as Judith already begins to fall asleep.<br>"Okay, Lizzie. You start," I whisper.  
>"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with... 'N'," she says.<br>Me and Mika look around. "Night?" Mika asks.  
>Lizzie shakes her head. "Nope."<br>I think for a long time, ignoring my smirk when Judith begins purring again. "Nature?" I ask.  
>"Nope," Lizzie says again, grinning.<br>"Ooh, knife?" Mika asks, seeing her and Lizzie's sheathed knifes on the bedside table beside her.  
>I gently nudge her shoulder in jest. "Knife begins with a 'K'," I tell her quietly.<br>She frowns. "What? No it doesn't."  
>I nod. "Yeah, it's just a silent 'K'. Hidden in plane sight, you know?" I say.<br>"Oh," Mika says. Then she grins. "Oliver, you Brain Box."  
>I laugh at her, and she giggles too, making her shoulders shake against the mattress.<br>"C'mon! 'N'... 'N'...! You gotta keep guessing," Lizzie insists impatiently.  
>"Alright, alright," I grin, focusing again on the game as I examine the room, taking a long time to find something. "Uh... N... N... uh, newspaper?" I ask, spotting the collection of old newspapers stacked on the chair by the window.<br>Lizzie sighs in defeat. "Yeah, you win."  
>"Mika, you spy," I say, giving my turn to her.<br>She sits up a little and searches around the room. "Uh... okay. I spy on my little e-"  
>"With," I interrupt to correct her. <em>If she's going to play, she's got to do it right.<em> **_Jesus christ, Oliver._**"It's, 'I spy _with..._ my little eye'."  
>Mika giggles and rolls her eyes. "I spy <em>with...<em> my little eye," she starts over, mimicking my tone, "something beginning with 'C'," she smiles, scooting to lie down on the bed again.  
>"Ceiling?" I say.<br>"Wrong," Mika shakes her head.  
>"Candle?" Lizzie says.<br>"Nope," Mika answers, grinning.  
>"Chair?" I ask.<br>"Nope," Mika says again.  
>I frown as I keep looking, waiting for Lizzie to guess, but when I look at her, I smile when I see that she has fallen asleep.<br>I chuckle a little and turn to Mika. "She's out of it," I whisper.  
>"Really?" Mika tries to sound surprised, but I can see that she is also getting tired now as well, although she won't let that stop her. "'en you go. Guess 'gain," she insists, her voice becoming groggy and slurred in her sleepiness.<br>"Clothes?" I ask, seeing mine and the girl's clothes drying on the radiator and on the banister at the end of the bed.  
>Mika shakes her head. <strong><em>Dammit.<em>** _What is she spying?_  
>I chew my lip as I think, readjusting Judith in my arms and pulling the blanket over me a little more as I feel the chill of the night.<br>"Uh, cold?" I kind of joke, knowing that I am wrong but saying it to take a chance regardless.  
>Mika furrows her brow. "Cold's not... something... you can see," she is barely able to form her sentence as she drifts further into her slumber.<br>I breath a chuckle, suddenly realising that I am feeling happier than I have felt in a while. The last time I felt so relaxed and at home was when I was with Carl... Then, suddenly the happiness disperses so fast that it almost hurts. My smile fades and a lump forms in my throat, my sadness aching away in my chest and feeling like it is squeezing my heart too tightly.  
>"Carl," I say out loud without meaning to, knowing that he is not what Mika was spying at all either. I glance at Mika with my eyes welling and feeling embarrassed for my verbal accident, but Mika didn't even notice.<br>She's fallen asleep.  
>A tear rolls down my cheek and I wipe it quickly with my sleeve. I lean over Mika and blow out the candle on the bedside table, sending the room into total darkness before sinking into the duvet with Judith resting on me.<br>I take a deep breath, annoyed when I find that my asthma is still making me wheeze a little. But I won't take any inhaler yet, it's not bad enough. And like Carol said; I should save as much as I can to make it last. But to be honest, I am too drained and exhausted and lazy to use it right now anyway.  
>So, in the 2nd bedroom on the left, in this little old house on The Grove, a few minutes away from the train tracks and 3 or 4 days out of Macon, Georgia County, USA... I sleep. With Mika and Lizzie either side of me, and Judith tucked between my arm and chest, asleep and as safe as I can make them all right now. I wish with everything in me that we lose no one else. We have lost too many people we care about already, and I don't know how much more we can take... how much more <em>I<em> can take... before I just break into a million pieces.

**Happy reading xx ****:_)_**


	26. Chapter 26 Don't Get Rid Of The Shirt

**Carl's POV**

Same old same old.  
>We wake up this morning, cold and hungry. Dad and Michonne go to check the snares they caught the night before but a few minutes later they come back with nothing, just like they have for the last two days as well. We have been living off the food Michonne and I found on that last supply run, but we're running low. We could make it to Terminus (which is only three days away according to the signs) but only if we have one can of something a day each.<br>So we eat our 'can of something each' - I got corn. But that's good because I like corn. When we finish, we collect all our cans to use for a perimeter fence later when we rest for the night, and then we get going along the tracks.  
>Just like always.<p>

_~ Around 7 or 8 Miles Later ~_

We haven't stopped walking yet, and just as this infuriating fact is about to drive me completely insane... something changes. Finally.  
>Dad turns off the track at an upcoming cross road. "It's getting colder," he states as he looks back to us.<br>I agree and purse my lips in minimal response. I was shivering all of last night and have been all of this morning too, despite the constant walking. Though my lack of verbal response is out of laziness more than contempt. I'm not angry at Dad anymore. I'm just angry all the time. But that is something I just have to live with now I suppose.  
>"We should find a store or somethin'," Dad continues, "get some warmer clothes – might be able to find some food, too."<br>"Alright," Michonne agrees, following him.  
>I linger on the tracks a moment, watching them walk away. I glance at the iron beams and wooden planks below my odd shoes, thinking about stepping off. But I hesitate, fearing that I won't be able to. I have been on these tracks for almost 4 days now and it's almost like if I leave them after this long, I'll never be able to bring myself to get back on them again.<br>But Michonne glances at me and beckons me to hurry, so I take a leap of drained faith and step over the iron beams, following after them, glancing back at the tracks every few moments as if I am worried that they will disappear before we come back.

Dad leads us a few miles towards a town I forgot to look at the name of. But I don't really care, I just know that it is about a 3 day walk from Macon. And Macon is where Terminus is. We find a corner store, but we can see without even having to go in that it has been picked dry. We move on finding another shop a few blocks down; what looks like an Outdoors Store. It has been looted already but looks like it might have some warmer clothes and some supplies left over that we can make use of.  
>Dad wraps on the door and we wait for 5 or so minutes for any walkers. Three show up, one for each of us. I watch them, tilting my head as I examine our 'competition'.<br>One is an overweight, (or maybe he's just bloated from decomposition) male walker, with a bald head and a gouged out eye. _He's for Dad._  
>The second walker is an old man, with straw-like grey hair on his chin and rotted flesh falling from his torso, he has a screwdriver stuck in the side of his neck. <em>He's for Michonne<em>.  
>The third is a teenage girl, with long, blond, blood stained hair that falls past her lower back. She has a small collection of screwdrivers on her belt, and I make the assumption that she was the one who looted the store, but she must have gotten caught by these other two walkers in the process. My unqualified and ignorant detective skills say that the teenage walker -when she was alive- got fatty over there in the eye with her screwdriver, but didn't kill him, and then tried to take out oldie but missed his brain and got eaten by them both. She was probably pretty and kind and friendly before she was torn apart and infected with a rabid disease, but now the skin on her cheeks sags down and is torn up badly, and part of her scalp has been ripped out, exposing maggot infested bone and flesh underneath. Her left breast has either been eaten or has just fallen off completely, replaced with a gaping hole that exposes her crushed rib cage and unbeating heart. <em>She's mine to put down I presume.<em>  
>I grimace without meaning to, wanting to feel bad for her and the other two walkers, but all I feel is hatred for the sickness that has killed and taken over all three of their bodies... wondering if the same thing had happened to him... wondering if those men were cruel enough to leave his brain unharmed, unlike the rest of his body that they would have violated and murdered... laughing as they let him wake up from his terrible death, to wander around once more, dead, but not dead... forever...<br>"Carl?" Michonne snaps me out of my intrusive thoughts.  
>I stare at her, feeling my whole body tensing and shaking slightly. I force myself to relax again and motion to the store. "Ar- uh, are we gonna go in?" I ask, trying to change the subject.<br>Michonne and Dad watch me for a long moment, nodding slightly with concerned expressions.  
>"What're we gonna do about the shots?" I ask, knowing that bullets will only attract more walkers.<br>But they don't answer right away, still worried about my behaviour. But their sympathetic expressions only irritate me.  
>I sigh impatiently. "The shots? What are we gonna do about 'em?" I ask again, frowning in annoyance now.<br>Dad tenses his jaw, but takes my obvious hint and motions to Michonne, who already has her katana out. "I'll distract 'em while Michonne takes 'em out," he says.  
>I roll my eyes, knowing that they want me to stay out here and wait until they are done in there. "I'm not sitting this out. I can get one of it's screwdrivers," I state, pointing at the teenage walker's stocked belt.<br>"You're gonna get its weapon?" Dad cocks an eyebrow doubtfully, shifting his weight on his hips.  
>"Yes," I confirm, gritting my teeth at him, annoyed by his lack of faith in me. "Let's go," I finalise, readying myself to pull the door open.<br>Dad looks like he will protest, but after everything we have been through he relents, knowing that I am capable enough to do what I have said. He suppresses his protectiveness and nods, grinding his jaw slightly. "All right."  
>I pull at the broken door and it gives a little resistance, but with another tug it opens with a crunch and swings agape.<br>We go in, Michonne leading and me and Dad behind her. I head straight for the teenage walker. She lunges for me, snapping her rotten teeth as she extends her arms, ready to claw through my skin. But I dodge her, ducking under her grasping extremities and swivelling behind her, kicking the back of her knees. She falls to the floor with a growl, trying to turn over and come after me again. But I am too quick. I steal a screwdriver from her waist, clutching it in my palm ready to lunge, and before she knows what has happened, I drive the thin metal through the back of her skull with a blood churning squelch.  
>She falls to the floor, dead, again.<br>I glance over my shoulder to Dad and Michonne, watching as Dad pushes the big walker into the wall and lets Michonne slice through it's skull. She pulls her blade out and Dad lets go of the walker as it slumps to the floor with a heavy thump, and a black pool of blood grows around its halved head. He looks over his shoulder to me, panting and visibly aching from his healing injuries.  
>I nod a little and look away to the other side of the store. "I'll check for food," I say, heading to the tills to see if there are any of those decide-to-spend-a-few-bucks-on-your-way-out-on-useless-candy shelves.<br>Michonne heads over to the clothes isle, looking like she is enjoying herself a little as she 'shops' for some new clothes, Dad goes to the back of the store to look for supplies.  
>I get to the tills, examining the small shelves before rifling through them. But it's all mostly just mints and gum. I find some breakfast bars and I grab them, not finding any more <em>Big Cat<em> candy bars though, much to my dismay.  
>But then I see the M&amp;M's, sitting on the shelf next to the empty <em>Aero<em> bar shelf. I think of him. I don't know why... association I guess. My heart throbs and I close my eyes to stop the angry tears I can feel forming. I palm at an M&M's packet as it sits on the shelf, debating weather or not I want to take it and hearing the crackling from the wrapper as my fingers move against it. But my hand thinks on its own and closes around the wrapper possessively. I stuff it into my jeans pocket, somehow feeling like the M&M's are too sentimental to put in my supply bag with all the other junk in there.  
>I open my eyes again and I can't stop the tear that rolls down my cheek, so I wipe it away and ignore the ache in my throat. I hear rustling behind me and I spin on the spot, startled and annoyed and thinking that it is Dad spying on me.<br>But it's just another Lurker. He's been eaten so much that only the head and upper torso has survived the feasting it must have endured before.  
>I walk over to him, and quickly plunge the screwdriver through it's skull, grimacing as a chunk of his scalp rips off when I pull it back out. But I feel the wiry, blond hair tickle my thumb as it clings to the flesh around the screwdriver.<br>"Ugh!" I groan and yelp at the same time, startled with disgust as I let go of the screwdriver and it drops with a 'splat' as the rotting flesh smacks to the floor. "Gross," I groan under my breath, stepping over the walker's body and heading back over to Michonne in the clothes section. I think I'll leave the screwdriver there.  
>She is searching through the shirts section with a dark blue hoodie draped over her arm. "Here," she says, handing the hoodie to me, "found this for you."<br>I purse my lips in thanks, still a little grossed out by earlier. But I push the rotting flesh to the back of my head and put my supply bags and Sheriffs' hat on the floor, then put the hoodie on.  
>Michonne examines me when I have finished, rubbing her chin and nodding in approval as I try to tidy my hair a little, but eventually giving up and just hiding it under my hat. "Look at you, Handsome," she smiles warmly.<br>I scoff. "Um hm, thanks," I say sarcastically, raising my brow as I sling my supply bags back over my shoulders. _I'm sure I look great with a clean jumper on while everything else on me is absolutely filthy._  
>Michonne chuckles and goes back to looking for more clothes, pulling a cream jacket off the hanger and holding it against her body to see if it'll fit. She turns to me, pouting her lips and raising her brow, posing in jest. "What'd'ya think?" she asks.<br>I smirk, shaking my head and shrugging. "I don't know," I say, cursed with complete indecisiveness on the topic of fashion. Michonne rolls her eyes and I put my hands up in joking submission. "What? I don't."  
>She scoffs. "Oh, you're as hopeless with clothes as Ol-" Her mouth closes before she says his name. And I stare at her, almost craving to hear it again even though I know it will hurt. I almost ask her to say it... I almost ask her to bring him back from the dead... But I keep my mouth as shut as Michonne is keeping hers, letting the beginning syllable of his name linger in the air like a ghost.<br>Michonne breaks the quiet when it becomes too intense, clearing her throat before she does. "I... I was gonna get rid of the shirt," she says quietly, pulling at the hem of the white, oversized shirt that he gave her the day he died, "but I jus'... couldn't... You know?"  
>I nod, tensing my mouth and not really knowing what else to do as I try to keep my emotions invisible, but I can feel my tears welling in my eyes and my throat throbs, holding back my hiccups.<br>Dad emerges around the corner stuffing some matches into his supply bag, he sees us, but he hangs back, not wanting to disturb mine and Michonne's conversation.  
>I wait a moment, letting my sentence form in my mind and making sure my voice doesn't crack in front of them. "Don't get rid of the shirt," I tell Michonne quietly, pursing my lips into a sad smile as the ache continues in the pit of my stomach.<br>Michonne nods, knowing that the shirt is sentimental to the both of us. Pointlessly sentimental, but that doesn't matter. She steps over to me and puts her hand on my shoulder, before doing something she has never done to me before and leaning forward to kiss me on the top of my head. I close my eyes as she holds her lips to my dirt coated fringe, feeling the rim of my hat bend to her will and wanting to bawl my eyes out into her, wanting to collapse right here and break into a million, unfixable pieces across the floor. But over my sadness, I realise that I feel comforted by Michonne.  
>I tentatively squeeze her forearm in sincere thanks as she leans away again, smiling softly at me. "C'mon," she motions back to Dad.<br>He nods to her behind my back, thanking her for consoling me a little and thinking I didn't notice his gesture. And even though I did, I ignore it.  
>The three of us head out of the store together. Leaving the place open seeing as it's pretty much useless now.<br>"What did you both get?" I ask, wanting to break the quiet and to have something to distract the pang in my gut.  
>"I got some string for the perimeter fences. Thought we'd start sleeping a little off the track – we'll have more cover in the trees at night," Dad answers, "an' I got some matches, torches, batteries... thought I could use the radio in there, but I put it back - didn't see the point."<br>Something rings in my memory, but I struggle to think what Dad's words have reminded me of. It's on the tip of my tongue, but Michonne speaks before I remember properly, distracting me enough to make me forget all together. "I found this," she says, flicking the collar of the cream jacket she took.  
>Dad and I smirk at her, knowing that she wants a little more enthusiasm from us than we are offering, and she scoffs in annoyance when we don't give it to her.<br>"I also found some warmer socks an' some underwear for you both," she says, letting her dissatisfaction go.  
>"Thank you," Dad says.<br>We keep walking, and eventually find our way back to the tracks.  
>"See?" Michonne smiles at me knowingly. I furrow my brow at her, wondering what she is talking about. She motions with her head to the train track. "It's still here."<br>I smile, because truthfully I am ridiculously relieved to see that the track is still here despite the fact that I always knew it would be. I wonder how she knew I was worried about such an idiotic thing for a moment, but then I realise that Michonne knows me like family.  
>Michonne is like a mother to me, and it has taken me a long time to accept and appreciate that. After losing my own mom, I'd never dreamed that I could care about another person like that again. I love Michonne. She'll never replace my mom; I could never love her more than my mom. And I'll never love anyone like I loved... like I always will, love, Oliver. But Michonne and Dad are all I have left now, and I won't forget that... I can't forget that.<br>We step back onto the tracks and continue following them towards Terminus.


	27. Chapter 27 Mika, Open Your Eyes

**Oliver's POV  
><strong>  
>"Wake up, Oliver."<br>I roll back into reality. A little to my dismay because I was having a pleasant dream about Carol's grandma teaching me how to cook. We were making chocolate covered roasted pecans. Carl was there too, which didn't seem strange to me for some reason. Carol's Grandma kept scolding me for being so reluctant to cook, and she kept telling Carl what a nice boy he was for helping her. But after a while, when they both convinced me to make an effort, I found that I was enjoying it and that I liked Carol's Grandma. It was strange though, because she looked and sounded exactly like Carol, but Carl and I knew she was her grand mother. I'm not sure how, but we just knew. But it doesn't matter anyway, it was only a dream.  
>"C'mon, wake up."<br>Mika's groggy voice again, along with an irritating poke to my forehead pulls me further into conciseness. I open my eyes to see her still led in bed next to me, gently poking me on the forehead near my temple.  
>I gently brush her hand away. "What're you doing, Mika?" I ask, worried that it will hurt with my injury, but I realise that there is no pain. I must've finally healed enough.<br>Mika shrugs and drops her hand, snuggling into Grazelda Gunderson as the doll lays squashed under her cheek. "We should get up soon," she says, closing her eyes again in spite of her words.  
>I shift my arm a little, expecting the light weight of Judith, but I suddenly sit bolt upright, realising that she is no where to be seen. "Judy. Where is she?" I ask worriedly, swiveling around to search for her.<br>"With Carol," Mika says sleepily, still with her eyes closed and the hand she was using to poke me now rested lazily over her forehead, palm up. "She came in a... a minute ago... and," Mika stops to yawn before continuing, making me grin at her in amusement, "told me to wake you."  
>I glance at Lizzie, seeing that she is still fast asleep. I sigh, feeling empathetic for the two exhausted children and deciding to leave them asleep for a few minutes longer. Guessing from what Mika said that Carol wanted <em>me<em> to wake up, not her and Lizzie too. So I quietly climb out of the bed and grab my dry clothes off of the radiator and bed banister, glad that they are kind of clean as I dress myself into them, leaving the oversized pyjamas on the end of the bed.  
>Leaving the girls asleep, I go and search for the others, finding Carol sat on the couch with Judith in her arms as she feeds her a bottle of formula. I presume Tyreese is disposing of the burnt bodies. I glance out of the window but I don't see him, only see the burnt and charred corpses of the walkers scattered by the fences.<br>"Where's Ty," I ask, turning from the window to look at Carol.  
>"He's still sleeping," she answers, readjusting the bottle for Judith.<br>I furrow my brow, wondering why she wanted me out here. "Do you want me to go start on moving the bodies?" I offer.  
>"No," Carol disproves. "You're not strong enough, not after opening your cut again."<br>I purse my lips in confusion, wanting to protest but knowing that I won't win against her. "Okay," I mumble incredulously, joining her on the couch. "Carol?"  
>"Um hm?" She looks up from Judith as the baby continues to drink.<br>"What did you want me for?" I ask. "Mika said you asked her to wake me."  
>Carol sighs, holding my gaze. "I wan'ed'a talk to you... 'bout... stayin' maybe..." she says slowly. "I was talkin' to Ty about it yesterday, an' well... would you want to, Oliver?"<br>"Stay in The Grove?"  
>"Yeah," Carol nods, pausing to purse her lips. "Do you like it here?"<br>I pause a moment, knowing my answer but debating with myself whether or not I should voice it. Finally, I nod. "Yeah. I do. Mika and Lizzie do, too," I say truthfully, though feeling myself frowning.  
>"We could build this place up. Fix the garden, maybe plant more food," she says, weighing out our options.<br>"We could find a car as well," I say, trying to work the frown from my expression and even though it leaves, I can feel it stubbornly tugging to show itself again, "we should have one ready for a getaway, if we ever needed to."  
>Carol smiles and watches me for a moment. "That's a good idea. I'll talk to Ty," she says, then pauses and I know that she has noticed the silent conflict rolling through my mind. "We can still go to Terminus. One day... when we're ready."<br>I don't answer her, knowing that it would be pointless to try to convince Carol that I am still not afraid of going to Terminus. I look away at the burnt out fireplace and lift my hand to pull at my beanie hat, only to realise that I'm not wearing it, so instead, I chew my nail restlessly, something I have never gotten into the habit of doing before, so I quickly drop my hand and resist the compulsive urge.  
>I don't know when I'll ever be ready to get to Terminus. I can't bear the idea of getting there and not finding the rest of our group. Not finding Carl. As I know that it would mean only one thing.<br>Carol furrows her brow as if she is reading my thoughts. "You still think they're dead, don't you?" she says gently, pausing a moment before finishing. "You still think _he's_ dead... Carl."  
>I close my eyes, feeling them well up at his name. I hold my breath, feeling my chest ache. "I don't know..." I get out, pausing to compose myself. I look at Carol, swallowing before talking. "I really don't know anymore."<br>"It's okay to be afraid," Carol says. "It's okay to be scared."  
>"I am," I whisper immediately, holding her eye contact. "Carol... I'm terrified."<br>I want so much to get to Terminus and find Carl and Rick and Michonne and everyone else there, alive and healthy. But I know that if we do keep going to Terminus, and we get there... and it's overrun, or Carl isn't there... I will know that he'll really be dead. I will know for sure that they all will be. Even if they just hadn't found the tracks, they will be as good as dead. We all know that it is only a matter of time when you are on the road before you are torn apart, whether it be by the dead or the living, it's what always happens. We need a sanctuary, and unless we all find one... there is no place we can be safe any more.  
>Carol places her hand on my shoulder, waiting a moment for me to look at her before replying to me. "Me too," is all she says.<br>I look away, nodding as I wait for my emotions to settle, breathing deeply and glad that my asthma had settled again overnight.  
>Mika emerges from the bedroom, still looking half asleep as she clutches Grazelda Gunderson under her arm and ambles over to us, snuggling up next to me on the couch. I chuckle at her, letting her rest her head on my chest before resting my chin on top of her head. "Morning, Mika," I say, gently pulling the couch throw around her and patting her tiny shoulder blade.<br>She mumbles something like a morning greeting back to me, but I don't understand it properly, figuring that she is just too tired to form a real sentence.  
>"I'm glad that you're comfortable with the girls," Carol says quietly, noticing how close I am with Lizzie and Mika; letting them lean and sleep on me, and holding their hands etc. knowing that I am still sensitive in participating in physical contact with other people. But to be completely honest, I hadn't even thought about it with Mika and Lizzie at all. Like Carol says; I am just comfortable with them. "You're like a big brother to her." Carol continues my thoughts out loud, motioning to Mika. "An' Lizzie too. It's lovely to see 'em look up to you like they do," she says quietly, smiling softly as she strokes the blond hair from Mika's closed eyes.<br>But I see the child smile a little against my shirt, and I know that she is only in here to eves-drop on mine and Carol's conversation.  
>I smirk at Mika. "Hmm, they're like the annoying little sisters I never had," I joke at her expense, suddenly earning a tired and playful jab to the rib from the child. "Ouch! I knew you weren't really asleep," I chuckle at her, poking her neck to tickle her.<br>Mika sits up, grinning and stifling her giggles as she tries to glare at me. But she cracks up, amused and embarrassed by being busted. "What're we doin' today?" she asks me, leaning on my chest again and making herself comfortable as she talks.  
>I shrug in response and look to Carol for her answer.<br>"Well, me an' Ty're gonna try an' see if we can't find us all a deer this mornin', so we'll have breakfast when we get back. We thought you could all stay here and have a day to rest after how brave you were yesterday," Carol tells Mika, before looking at me. "Oliver, you alright stayin' too? I want you to focus on healing, an' we need a pair of eyes on these three," she continues with a smirk at Mika.  
>I nod. "Yes, Ma'am," I say.<br>"You can have a few pecans until we get back if you get too hungry, an' then we can make a nice breakfast - celebrate for our win yesterday," Carol proposes in jest, smiling as she hands Judith to me.  
>"We can wait until you get back," I say. <em>We are always hungry, so a few pecans aren't going to make much difference, especially if we are going to celebrate when they get back anyway.<em> _**And venison sounds perfect right now if I do say so myself.**_ "A celebration sounds great."  
>Carol grins. "Yes it does. Oh, can you burp Judy for me?" she asks as she heads to Tyreese's room at the end of the hallway and knocks on his door. I nod to the woman as she leans against the wooden surface. "Ty! We'll head out in a few minutes. If that's alright?"<br>I place a rag on my shoulder and proceed to burp Judith, placing her over my shoulder and gently patting her tiny, delicate spine, and chuckling at Mika when she grimaces at the tiny belches Judith makes.  
>"Okay. I'll be out in a minute," Tyreese answers Carol through the door.<br>Carol comes back over to me and Mika at the couch, smiling at me as I continue to tend to Judith. "Let Lizzie sleep until she's ready to get up. Yesterday was pretty tough on her," she says.  
>Mika and I nod in agreement.<br>"Mika, do you think you can go back to bed? It's still pretty early," Carol proposes to the child, fishing out a hair tie from her fleece pocket.  
>"I can't go back to bed now," Mika protests as she moves to sit with her back to Carol, knowing what the woman wants to do without needing to be asked. Carol strokes the child's hair to fall down her spine, running her fingers through it to try and untangle the worst of the blond mass, before quickly tying it into a loose side pony tail.<br>"All right," Carol smiles, going into the kitchen and collecting both of the hunting rifles for her and Tyreese, and then hurrying back to her bedroom to dress into the rest of her everyday clothing.  
>"Do you wanna sit outside?" I ask Mika when Judith is done with her burping, luckily not throwing up over the rag on my shoulder like I saw her do on so many occasions to her father and Beth.<br>"Uh huh, sure," Mika says, quickly leaving Grazelda Gunderson on the floor by the fireplace and skipping out of the screen door to the front yard.  
>I smile and follow her, propping Judith on my hip and grabbing her blanket as I leave the house.<br>We decide to go out by the old shack. I set the blanket on the ground and then put Judith down on it. She picks at the blades of soft grass that poke over the edge of the fabric, mumbling baby talk to herself.  
>"She's getting real big," Mika says, tickling Judith's cheek. "She'll be walkin' and talkin' pretty soon."<br>I smile as I go and sit on the small, worn down, old fashioned tractor that is parked and abandoned next to the shack entrance, smiling as I look out over The Grove. I pick at a weed that is growing beside me out of the metal bonnet on the dead vehicle and roll the green-yellow plant between my thumb and forefinger.  
>"What were you spying?" I ask Mika a moment later. "Last night, I mean. What was the 'C' for?"<br>She looks up at me from Judith. "Oh. It doesn't matter. You can't see 'em right now anyway," she says.  
>I furrow my brow. Her words only increasing my curiosity rather than relieving it. I open my mouth to ask her to tell me anyway, but just then, Carol and Tyreese exit the house together and head our way to say goodbye before they leave.<br>"All right, we'll be gone for 'bout an hour, maybe more but, we'll be back before eight," Tyreese tells me and Mika. We can know when 8:00am is now, because somehow, the clock inside the house in the hallway still works. "We're not gonna stalk 'em. We figured we might just come across one like we did when we got here."  
>"An' yesterday too; a deer wandered out in front of us again while we were out," Mika tells him, smiling hopefully yet visibly a little disheartened that they will be killing a deer.<br>"Good," Tyreese responds eagerly, "should be a piece o' cake."  
>"See ya'll later," Carol smiles as she and Tyreese leave through the fence and close it behind them.<br>"See you. Oh, and if you find cake instead, forget the deer," I joke.  
>Tyreese and Carol laugh, waving once over their shoulders to us. Mika and I watch them disappear further into The Grove. We know they won't need to go far, so I know that Mika isn't worried about them, and for once, neither am I. Actually, I'm not worried at all. For once in over a week, I am not worried and I am not hurting and I am not breaking. I'm just... being.<br>The silence seems to mix into the noise of the woods, merging with the air and the leaves and the grass and the insects and the birds like a beautiful song. And I let myself enjoy it. I roll my head back to rest it on the small, cracked wind screen of the tractor and stare up at the sky, squinting from the sun as it beams down on me and warms my skin, soaking into my soul, as if I'm a solar panel using the light to make energy. Only, the energy; it's more like a soothing feeling of slow and steady healing, as if I am being revived, regenerated... and I don't want it to stop.  
>I suddenly think of something. I pull my head from the glass to look at Mika. "Constellations?" I ask, breaking the noise of the woods and letting it scatter around us like fleeing wildlife.<br>Mika furrows her brow at me, not realising that I still haven't let the game of Eye Spy go yet. But a moment later, as I am blinking away the blinding dot burned into my retinas from the sun, she giggles, realising my anonymous outburst in a way only a little sister could. "Yeah!" she confirms, as Judith holds The Young Blond's little finger with her whole hand. "How'd you know?"  
>"You said that you can't see them any more," I explain, grinning as I glance up at the sky again to see no stars there, and then look back to her before any more retina burns show up in my vision. "Can't see stars in the day."<br>Mika smiles, letting out a small chuckle.  
>"Do you like astronomy then?" I ask, remembering that Mikasaid she likes science class – they're kinda the same thing, right?<br>"Yeah," Mika nods and grins, coming to sit on the tractor bonnet beside me. "We went on a camping trip for school once to watch the stars. It was great. Science class was my favourite."  
>I smile smugly, feeling my ego grow ever-so-slightly as my correct guess. "Which constellation is your favourite?" I ask, stretching my arms out in front of me. But I wince in pain when the cut on my side stretches the ripped skin, so I drop my arms and sit normally again, letting my ego deflate a little.<br>Mika stares up at the sky, shielding her eyes with her hands as she thinks about her answer. "I like, Orion's Belt. Pegasus... an' Draco, the Dragon - he was the monster with all the heads that Hercules turned to stone by showing Medusa's head to it," she tells me enthusiastically.  
>I smile and nod, pretending that I know the Greek Myth better than I really do.<br>"What's your favourite?" she asks me.  
>"Constellation?" I ask and Mika nods in response, waiting for my answer. I shrug. "I've never really thought about it... The Big Dipper, I guess?" I explain, saying the first constellation that I think of off the top of my head.<br>"I love stars," Mika drops my eyes contact, resting her head against the cracked wind screen of the tractor and closing her eyes as she talks. "I read a story about a star. Called, _'Stardust'..._ It's about a star - she falls from her home in the heavens and gets hunted by an evil witch, and a selfish prince, 'cause they want to take her heart for themselves to be immortal from the magic it has... but a boy finds her instead... well, a whole load of other stuff happens after that, too. But, in the end, she and the boy fall in love, and they find their way back up to the heavens again, back home... The star gives him her heart, and they live as two stars, together... forever," Mika says, opening her eyes and searching the bright sky, as if she is looking for them.  
>I smile at her. "Do ya see 'em?" I ask sarcastically, faking a southern drawl for my own amusement.<br>Mika looks at me and smirks. "_No_," she draws out to emphasise her exhaustion to my joking_._ "But I _can_ see Venus," she adds happily.  
>I furrow my brow in disbelief. "What? In the daytime?" I ask, looking up.<br>"Yeah. Look," Mika points up at the sky to the right and just above the tree line. "Venus isn't a star. It jus' looks like one. But you can still see the planet in the daytime sometimes."  
>I search for it, squinting as I follow her pointing finger. Then I spot the planet; a tiny white dot in the blue sky like a living pin prick. Invisible to anyone who isn't looking for it. Hidden in plane sight. Somehow giving me a sense of appreciation to be lucky enough to notice it. I almost forgot that it still isn't just Georgia left. There's a whole world out there. A whole solar system. A whole universe! With no walkers or people or sadness or death. Just unconditional and limitless beauty.<br>"Cool," I breath a chuckle, staring in awe at the pin prick planet.  
>"I wish I was a star," Mika utters a moment later. "So bright and beautiful. So free... I like to think Mom an' Dad're up their too - two stars lookin' down on us, keepin' watch over us... like the two characters in the story. Mom an' Dad, together forever." She glances at me, her smile a little sadder than before. "Oliver? Do you think that's what they're doin'? Keepin' watch over us?"<br>I sigh and sling my arm over her shoulder, and she rests her head on my chest, burying her hands in my flannel shirt to warm them a little. "I don't know, Mika. But... I like to think so... I think we all deserve someone lookin' out for us right now."  
>Mika nods into my shirt, absentmindedly playing with the button on the hem of it. "Me too."<br>Just then, we hear the familiar creak of the screen door opening across The Grove from the house. I look around, seeing Lizzie's sleepy form emerge a few hundred yards away. "Mornin'," she calls across The Grove, tucking her shirt behind her knife and gun with one hand, and holding Mika's sheathed knife in her other.  
>"Good morning," I smile at her, watching as she comes over to us.<br>"Mornin'," shenods and smiles at me, before handing Mika her weapon, "you left it inside. Carol told us to keep 'em on us all the time," Lizzie says to Mika.  
>"Thanks," Mika smiles, leaning off of me to buckle her sheath around her waist, before sitting back into the tractor and patting the small space on the bonnet next to her for her sister to sit.<br>Lizzie smiles and sets herself next to Mika, and the three of us look out over The Grove together for a few minutes, listening quietly to the natural serenade, mixed with the quiet mumbling of Judith as she occupies herself on her blanket by playing with a pecan she has found.  
>"Wanna keep playing Eye Spy?" Mika asks.<br>Lizzie and I nod. "Uh huh. What letter was it you were spyin' again?" Lizzie asks.  
>"Oliver guessed it a minute ago," Mika informs Lizzie. "It's his turn now."<br>I smile at her and me and the girls continue our game for a while. Guessing 'B' for birds, 'P' for pecans, 'G' for grave, 'S' for smoke, 'R' for rot.  
>Lizzie glances at me a little while later when Mika had just guessed Judith's blanket that I had spied. "Where's Carol an' Ty?" she asks, puckering her lips to chew them.<br>"They're out hunting. We're gonna have a nice meal tonight; venison, some roasted pecans, some more peaches," I say enthusiastically, letting my stomach talk for me. "I'm gonna wait until they come back to eat, but if you're hungry now Carol said we could have some of the pecans from last night?"  
>"Yeah. I'm a little hungry," Lizzie under-exaggerates, because we know she -and everyone else- is hungry all the time, so by 'a little hungry', she really just means, 'almost close to starving'.<br>"Me too," Mika seconds.  
>I slide off the tractor bonnet and stand up. "Okay. I'll go grab the pecans – back in a sec," I announce, heading towards the house. "Keep an eye on Judy for me," I add, although I know they will regardless I tell them to or not.<br>"Oh! I forgot to get your holster," Lizzie suddenly mews.  
>"It's okay. I'll go get it as well," I reassure her, smiling gratefully at her for reminding me.<br>I go across The Grove and into the house, grabbing my holster and buckling it around my waist. I grab the roasted pecans from the dining room table and go to leave out of the house again, but I suddenly remember that I have left my beanie hat in mine and the girl's bedroom. I quickly set the pecan tray on the side table near the door, seeing Mika and Lizzie in the distance talking on the tractor bonnet together, before I head down the hallway and into my bedroom.  
>I search the bed for my beanie, but I don't spot it anywhere. <em><strong>Maybe it fell under the bed?<strong>_ I crouch under the wooden frame and search. But there is a lot under here. I pull out a fold up step latter, some white paint cans, some cables. Then I spot the grey, worn fabric behind a shoe box against the wall. It must have fallen there while I slept.  
>"There you are," I mutter to it, grunting as I flatten my stomach on the floor and stretch my arms under the bed, carefully, so that I don't hurt my side. I reach for the beanie, knocking the shoe box a little with my knuckles. But I suddenly startle when the cardboard box squeaks. I leap out from under the bed and cringe with my mouth contorted and adrenaline surging through me. "Eh! What the fuck?"<br>I stare at the shoe box, wide eyed and heart pounding. I clutch my beanie hat to my chest, as if it will save me when the box leaps out of cover and tares into my flesh. I startle again when it rustles and lets out a high pitched squeal, and then another accompanying it. _WHAT THE FUCK!?_  
>But upon realising that the shoe box isn't actually alive and about to tare my face off, I slowly and carefully reach back under the bed, feeling kind of like a wimpy douche bag if I am honest and glad that no one saw my ridiculous reaction.<br>I edge my hand closer. Heart pounding and furrowing my brow in confusion, I pull the box out from under the bed, hearing the squeaking accompanying the sound of the cardboard as it slides over the wooden floor. _**What the hell is inside it?**_  
>I gingerly pull off the lid, and my eyes widen in shock at what I see inside. Mice. I stare down at the spooked creatures, counting 7 in there, of all colours. "What?" I mutter in unbearable confusion, my eyes reeling over the grey and black and brown and cream and white fur that seems to jumble together as the mice scurry around inside, falling over each other to get as much distance from me as they can.<br>I put the lid back on the shoe box before any escape, and pull on my beanie hat with slightly shaking hands. _I need to let them free._ _**What the hell could they be doing in the shoe box**_ _**in the first place**__**?**_ _How did they even get in there?_ I stand up, using the bed as support to carefully lift myself as my startle has made my injuries ache again.  
>But when I turn to the door, already palpitating with the surprise I had just experienced, I near enough jump out of my skin when I almost run right into Mika. "Gyaah!"<br>"Please don't tell!?" she begs, grabbing my arms as I clutch the shoe box in my hands.  
>I almost stumble backwards. "Mika!" I hiss irritably through gritted teeth, breathing heavily and doubling over a little to catch my breath after so many spooks in one morning. I bite back my curse. "Shi - eesh. What?" I order, but she stays silent, staring at me with her brow arched. "Mika, what the heck is this?"<br>She glances nervously from me to the shoe box. "Please? Don't tell?" she begs again, looking over her shoulder and I notice that Lizzie isn't in here with her.  
>"Why have you got mice under our bed?" I insist, frustrated that she won't answer any of my questions.<br>She shakes her head, letting go of my arm. "I didn't," she whispers. "Please? She doesn't know that I know about 'em. She'd be mad at me if she knew I knew."  
>I frown at her. "Mika. Just, calm down and answer me," I say quietly, careful not to talk too loud so that Lizzie doesn't hear us from outside. Mika gulps, her eyes darting at the box when a few squeaks emit themselves from the freaked out mice inside. I ask my question. "Why is there a shoe box full of mice under our bed?"<br>Mika sighs and her brow arches as she talks. "Lizzie finds 'em," she mews. "She keeps 'em for the walkers."  
>My expression drops and my eyes widen. My mouth stutters, trying to decide what question to ask next out of the hundred that are muddling around in my mind. "That's... that's w-what she was doing yesterday, wasn't it?" I ask finally.<br>Mika nods, scuffing her shoes on the floor. "I know she's not suppose to... but she doesn't see the walkers like we do. She doesn't understand. And, I never know how to help 'er... I don't know how to make her see it all like she's suppose to," she says pleadingly, and I can see tears welling up in her eyes.  
>"Mika," I mutter, placing the squeaking shoe box on the bed, before sighing sympathetically as I look back at her.<br>She purses her lips at me, worried for her sister. "I don't know what to do, Oliver," she whimpers.  
>I pull her into a bear hug. "It's okay. Mika, it's all right," I coo, stroking her hair out of her tearing eyes. She hugs me tighter, burying her face into my top and I hold back my wince as her nose presses on the place where my open cut is, but I bear it, knowing that Mika needs my consolation right now. "Lizzie's a big girl. She'll be fine, and so will you. You never know, maybe Carol might be able to talk to her?"<br>"Please don't tell," she mumbles desperately.  
>I pat her shoulder sympathetically. "Mika, I've got to," I admit truthfully.<br>She pulls away and pouts desperately. "No! Please, Oliver," she cries, grabbing at my arms and pulling at them, close to having a tantrum.  
>"Listen to me," I reason, keeping myself steady against her tugging. "Maybe it's for the best. I don't know how to help Lizzie either. But Carol and Ty are clever, and Carol's good with knowing things most other's don't. Carol knows everything, doesn't she?" I try.<br>Mika sniffs as she settles, and finally gives me a reluctant nod.  
>"So maybe she can help Lizzie? Maybe if Carol knew what Lizzie is doing... and, talked to her about it... maybe Lizzie could learn from it. You know?" I say comfortingly.<br>Mika doesn't say anything, but I can see that deep down past her sisterly protective instincts, she agrees with me.  
>I look at the box on the bed again. "Lizzie doesn't need to know I found it yet - I can go tell Carol and Ty now and let them deal with it better. Yeah?" I propose.<br>Mika nods again, still pouting a little.  
>"Okay. So you go and sit with Judy and Lizzie. And I'll go find Carol and Ty. You don't have to say anything. Just be there for your sister, maybe play another game of Eye Spy or something? All right?" I propose.<br>"Okay," Mika agrees, taking my hand.  
>I smile sympathetically with one side of my mouth, before walking with the worried child back outside, taking the pecan tray along with us.<br>When we get outside, Lizzie is staring off into space like she so often does nower days. "Lizzie," I say, placing the tray of pecans beside her on the bonnet of the tractor as Mika goes and plays with Judith.  
>Lizzie takes a long time to respond, turning to me with her pupils fully blown.<br>My brow furrows in concern. "Ar-are you okay?" I ask worriedly, my eyes widening at how deranged she suddenly looks.  
>"Yes," she says, shaking her head clear and I watch as the light blue-green colour returns to her eyes again as her pupils retract a little.<br>I purse my lips as I pretend I am not concerned for her even more than I was a moment ago. "Okay. I'm gonna see if Carol and Ty want a hand out there. They've been gone longer than they said they would, so... I'm gonna see if they want a hand," I say, my terrible lying skills making me ramble slightly.  
>But Lizzie doesn't seem to notice. She nods and purses her lips into a small smile. "Okay. See you later," she chirps as if her previous demeanour was all in my head, and I wonder for a moment if it really was.<br>I stand up. "Okay. See you both in a minute," I say, exchanging a glance with Mika. She nods, swallowing nervously as she watches me leave.  
>I climb through the fence and hurry in the direction that Carol and Tyreese left in almost an hour previously. Staying quiet so that I can listen out for anything, whether it be Carol and Tyreese, or just another walker. Because even though we are at The Grove, I remind myself that we can't let our guard down.<br>I find them sooner than I thought I would, but as soon as I spot the adults I know that I will be interrupting their conversation.  
>"That's the deal right?" I over hear Tyreese talking to Carol as I slow my pace to quieten it even more. "The people who're livin're haunted by the dead... We are who we are... an' we do what we do," he says, turning to look in my direction. I quickly dart behind a pecan tree before he sees me, flattening my back to it and holding my breath as he continues to talk, unaware of my presence. "'cause they still here. In our heads. In the forest... Whole world is haunted now... an' there's no getting' out o' that. Not until we're dead."<br>I know that I shouldn't be eves-dropping, and I don't mean to. But for some reason my body won't move to reveal my cover. I want to to hear this... need to.  
>"Tyreese?" Carol says, almost inaudibly to my intruding ears. There is a long pause. "Maybe they're not, haunting us. Maybe they're just, teaching us. Helping remind us so-" Carol's voice hitches, and I think that she is crying. My heart aches for her. "So that we can live with what we have to do," her voice cracks at the end of her sentence and I dip my head, feeling a lump in my throat.<br>"Hey," Tyreese mutters to her. "Don't you ever be ashamed of who you are, Carol. You did right by those girls. An' you saved that boy's life, gave 'im hope again after what he'd been through."  
>I hadn't considered Carol telling Tyreese what I had told her, and even by his words I am not certain that she told him everything. But I'm not mad. I trust Tyreese as much as I trust Carol. I wouldn't be indifferent if she did tell him, it would be a relief if anything.<br>"You did right by everyone," he finishes to her.  
>I peek around the tree, seeing Tyreese pull Carol into a hug. There is no point telling them right now. I can see that they need a few minutes alone.<br>I wipe my eyes, only just realising I was crying a little as go on my way back to the house, alone.

I amble back towards the shack, hearing Lizzie and Mika talking as I train my sight at the pecan scattered floor. But I notice some disturbance in their voices. I think for a moment that they are having a small argument, with hissing tones and breathy gasps of annoyance, but... it's different. It's panicky and eerie, and it gives me a horrible feeling deep in my gut.  
>But then I hear Mika.<p>

"Lizzie... what're you doing?"

My head snaps up from the woods' floor as I hear the alarmed and breathy voice belonging to the 10 year old.  
>"Lizzie?" she breathes, alarm rising in her voice. "Lizzie, put it away."<br>I furrow my brow, instinctively quickening my pace around the over grown garden to see the place I left the girls at by the shack. But my breathing catches and my eyes widen as they find the two children.  
>I see Lizzie; her spine and arms rigid as she closes in on her sister a few yards away from the blanket Judith is still sat on. Mika holds her arms out to her sister submissively, the fear rising in her eyes and her knees buckling under her.<br>"Lizzie. Stop it! Don't," she mutters, her voice shaky and spine-chilling. She sees me. "Oliver!" she calls, relief flooding her voice.  
>"Mika? Liz-" I begin, completely confused. But I stop my words when I see the knife in The Eldest Samuel Sister's hand. But even then, I don't put two and two together. Why would I? In what fucked up mess does this kind of thing really happen? So... just like in the suburb house when Dan grabbed me and forced me into the utility room, and just like when The Governor attacked Michonne and I saw for that single moment as she lay still on the earth... I don't react quick enough.<br>Before I even make it to the fence, and before Mika even knows what has happened, Lizzie lunges forward, grabbing her sister's shoulders into what almost looks like a hug, but I hear it. I hear the distinctive 'shuck' as metal impales flesh... and Lizzie's knife is lodged through Mika's abdomen.  
>"Guk, ach," Mika makes a noise, like a strangled gasp or whine, so quiet and delicate that I think it is only my imagination. But it rings in my ears, sending every nerve in my body into haywire, screaming for me to stop hearing it, to stop seeing what I am seeing. But I heard her, and I hear the panting from Lizzie... and I see Mika collapse to her knees. She stares incredulously at the knife handle that sticks out of her stomach, as though she doesn't believe that it is really there. But she doubles over as she pulls it from her body with shaking hands, cupping the blade and watching helplessly as her blood pools into her palms.<br>My mouth widens, but my throat closes on itself and no scream escapes me like it was meant to. My mind reels in horror, and I am beside Mika without realising I had even moved yet. My heart thumps so violently that I am afraid it will crash out of my chest, overpowered by my terror.  
>I hear Lizzie talking to Mika. "There you go. C'mon Mika," the big sister reaches down to her sibling, insisting that she sits up as she pulls her up by her hands and I see Mika's blood soak into her sister's extremities.<br>But Mika cries out in her pain, the terrible noise wrenching me from my paralysed state. I frantically push Lizzie away, not wanting her to go near Mika after what I have just seen. The Eldest sister tries to talk to me, but I can't make out the words as my heart thunders inside of my body, throwing my blood around inside of me and deafening me to anything outside.  
>Noises fall from my mouth, gibberish as I drop to the floor in front of Mika, distraught as I pull her tiny form into my arms. "Mika!" I pant, my voice echoing and distant in my ears. "Mika! D-don't! W-wait! L-look at me!" I beg, not knowing what I am even asking for as I press onto her wound with my shaking hands, wincing as her warm blood instantly soaks over my skin.<br>Mika grabs for my shirt, staining the fabric red and gasping as her body convulses in my quaking arms. I watch desperately as she splutters for air, struggling to cry a whimper. "Mika, no. No, don't! God, stop! Please?" I cry, tears streaming from my eyes as I put as much pressure on her wound as I can, doing it only because I remember seeing someone do the same thing in stupid movie years ago.  
>"Don't worry, Oliver. She'll be alright," I hear Lizzie behind me, and I see her crouch down and pick up her knife.<br>I spin my head to look at her as everything seems to shake, and I am unable to tell if it is me or Mika that is the one convulsing."Lizzie, wh-what did you do?" I plead hysterically, contorting my face as I look back to Mika, seeing the red grow too fast up my arms as I struggle to keep my shaking hands pressed onto her wound.  
>"Hold on Mika," I sob through a contorting face.<br>She stares at me, silently begging me to help her, to save her. But I don't know what to do! She's dying! She's fucking dying! A cry escapes me, racking my lungs as I sob helplessly, wincing as her blood covers my hands and soaks into our clothes.  
>"I didn't hurt her brain. She'll be alright now," Lizzie reasons.<br>I stare down at Mika, not wanting to look at Lizzie as I try with everything in me to wake up from the nightmare that I have to be living in right now.  
>Mika is terrified. I've never seen fear like this, from a child. It's unbearable! She gasps weakly and her body jolts every few moments as her blood pours from her stab wound. "Mika? D-don't bleed! P-please, stop!" I beg uselessly, watching the scarlet circle grow and grow without slowing, no matter how much I ask it to.<br>But Mika cries out in pain and I let go of her wound, knowing that I am only hurting her.  
>Intolerably helpless, I scrunch my eyes shut, hearing Mika's swallowing breath hitch horrifically over the chocking cries that push themselves from my lungs. I wince when I feel her warm, blood covered fingers graze weakly over my cheek and I open my eyes again.<br>She stares back at me. "He-... hel - p, Oli- Ol..." Her brow arches as she tries to tell me something, but she can't get the words out as the blood in her throat forces her to focus on breathing properly. But I know that she is pleading for her life, the life I know I cannot save.  
>"Mika, it's okay," I mutter to her, knowing that all I have left for her is to comfort her. "Mika, li-listen to me, o-okay?" I whisper, my despair oozing from every pore over my body and feeling like I am strangling myself as I try not to cry.<br>Mika's expression winces, scrunching up her eyes and tensing her mouth in her pain. A tear runs down the side of her face, but somehow she nods, "Muh huh," she makes a whimpering noise in confirmation to me.  
>"Mika, I'm h-here. Listen t-to my v-voice," I breathe as calmly as my hiccuping lungs will allow, stroking her temples with my thumbs and feeling her slowing heart beat against my skin. My heart breaks for her, the tiny shards of it feeling as if they are tearing through my lungs and rib cage, falling out of my skin and scattering around us both.<br>Mika closes her eyes, nodding as she hangs off of my words, the words that she is relying on to send her into Deaths arms. She cries silently, terrified as she knows that she is dying.  
>"Shh. It's okay," I coo, my voice a soft whisper and my face dipped as close to her forehead as I can. "Calm down... you're gonna be alright. You're gonna be just fine. Carol and Ty'll be back soon. They'll help you and... a-and we can make more roasted pecans. We can finish the puzzle. You just gotta c-calm down, Mika," I say, knowing that I am lying. But I don't want her to be afraid. I don't want her to be scared as she goes.<br>Tears drop from my eyes onto her whitening skin. "It's okay, Mika," I whisper, wiping them away for her before wiping my eyes on my shoulder. I roll my head back, trying to calm my breathing as I gently run my thumbs over Mika's temple, smearing her drying blood over her skin but not having any other option.  
>I see Venus, the tiny white dot in the sea of blue above, staring down at us from the middle of the sky now, after travelling there since this morning, watching over us.<br>I look back at Mika, unable to see her chest rising and falling. "Mika?" I whimper, a wave of devastation washing over me as I fear that she has gone. But she moves slightly, opening her mouth to struggle to take a deep, laboured breath. I sob a sigh of relief and agony. My heart swelling and threatening to spill over the both of us as I graze my thumb over her hair line to comfort her.

"Mika... open your eyes," I whisper softly.

Somehow, she does as I ask, meeting my gaze. Her blue eyes sparkle with her tears as she watches me. I move my head out of the way and look up, "Mika, look at the star. Look at Venus," I say softly, glancing back at her as she trains her gaze up to the tiny dot.  
>Her breathing hitches and her brow arches in her effort to talk. "It's... it's not... a s-star," she gets out, her voice barely a breath and hitching badly again as she convulses slightly in my arms, causing a sudden grow in the red as it spreads over her clothes and drips onto the grass.<br>A choke forces its way out of my lungs into something like a wail and a laugh. Too devastated and mortified and amazed to react to her in a way that makes sense. "I kn-know, Mika. Sorry," I apologise as more tears stream down my face and my gut aches in sorrow for her.  
>I watch in mortified awe, as Mika manages to move her mouth into a smile. Even as she dies she continues to smile, and it is absolutely admirable. She doesn't look away from the tiny planet despite her previous correction, keeping her gaze fixed onto it and hiccuping as she breathes.<br>I tense my mouth, trying to calm my breathing. I watch Mika blink as she stares up to the sky, instinctively knowing exactly what she is thinking. "That's it, Mika. Just pretend you're floating up to it," I whisper to her, and her hand tenses on my shirt collar, silently asking me to keep talking to her. "You can live up there too, if you want. Bright and beautiful and free... Like the characters in your book. You can see your parents again... f-forever together."  
>For a long time, Mika keeps staring up at the sky, maintaining her smile as she keeps hold of my collar. I watch through blurred, teary eyes, begging her to stay alive for a little longer.<br>But then, all at the same time; her mouth slowly relaxes and her smile fades as her life does. Her breathing slows more and more, until finally it just stops all together. The light in her innocent eyes disappears and seems to switch off like a light bulb, becoming like marbles; beautiful, intricate patterns in the blue and white colours of her irises, but dead and cold and transparent... empty. It all happens so slowly, but so suddenly, in one single moment that seems almost eternal. But it feels like a part of me leaves with her, volunteering to take her away and help her find her place with the stars.  
>My breath hitches as her hand falls from where she was holding my collar, and my face contorts, too distraught to move. I stare at her lifeless body, hovering my hands over either side of her face now, fearing that I will hurt her if I touch her delicate skin. As if I can just wait for the light to come back into her eyes again. I guess I can, too... but it won't be her light that returns, just an empty shell, a shadow of what once was Mika Samuels.<br>"Mika..." I breathe hopelessly, taking her hand and shaking it, agony and sorrow swallowing me whole. "M-Mika?"  
>"She'll be okay, Oliver."<br>I don't react to Lizzie's voice, I just keep staring at Mika in shock and catatonic hysteria, feeling the hairs stand on end over my whole shaking body as I feel her temperature plummet.  
>"She'll be alright now."<br>I use my shaking free hand to close Mika's eyes, making her look like she is only sleeping. _**Maybe... maybe she could be?**_  
>"She will. She'll be okay. She will."<br>"Lizzie?" I croak, finally able to speak but still unable to look away from the little, innocent, dead Mika. "Wh-why? She's your sister," I get out, shifting my gaze between both of Mika's closed eyes, silently begging her to wake up... but alive. Really alive, as the Mika I know and adore, not just an empty corpse.  
>"Don't be sad, Oliver. Please don't be sad," Lizzie pleads. "It's better now. I wanted her to be alright, an' she will be soon, when she wakes up again..." <em><strong>Oliver... I know you don't think you can move,<strong>__**b**__**ut... where is Lizzie? I can't see her.**_ "I... I wanted you to be alright too, Oliver..." _**Oliver... please, where is she?**_  
>I realise what Lizzie means, and why my mind is trying to snap me out of my daze. <em><strong>Oliver... turn around! Now...<strong>_ My eyes widen and adrenaline feels as if it is poisoning me, and I suddenly want to be able to see Lizzie more than anything. I spin my head around to look for her, and like I feared, she is edging towards me with her knife still clasped in her hand.  
>"Lizzie?" I say wearily, my voice shaking just like Mika's did before. I stare at Mika's blood is it drips from the end of the blade. Lizzie purses her lips into a smile, but it makes my skin crawl. "Lizzie, don't," I pant, panicking as my heart pounds in my chest.<br>I hold my arm out to her to stop, but she doesn't rethink her motive and her eyes glaze over, zoning out, losing herself in her thoughts. I stay sat on the floor with Mika's dead body resting my my knees, unable to move, overpowered by the corrupted innocence that I am witnessing. "Lizzie. Please?" I beg, refusing to place my hand on my gun and unable to bring myself to fight her, unable to believe what has just happened, or what is about to happen.  
>But just then, to my utmost relief and intensifying sorrow, we hear Carol and Tyreese finally returning from their hunt. Lizzie turns around to see them and I stare in a haze as they approach, talking merrily to each other and oblivious to the horror that has taken place here.<br>I almost call out to them, but I suddenly can't bring myself to, knowing that this is worse than anything that they probably will have ever experienced before. I somehow begin to believe that the closer they get to me and the girls without realising, the less real this nightmare will become. So I stay silent, terrified and devastated as I wait for them to fix everything. But none of that happens. Because when Carol and Tyreese finally see Judith sat alone on her blanket, and then Lizzie staring at them with the bloodied knife held loosely in her red stained hands, and then me, knelt on the floor with a too still Mika on my folded knees and both of us drenched in crimson... nothing changes... just that two more people are witnessing this now instead of just me, Lizzie and Judith. And it almost shatters me to pieces as I realise this.  
>They break into a run, as if that will help Mika now. I want to rip the knife from Lizzie's hand. I want to pull Mika back into her beating and alive body. I want to melt into the earth and hide there. But I don't do anything. I can't do anything. I just shake and choke in my own hysteria, staring hopelessly as Carol and Tyreese stare at us all, unable to bring myself to leave Mika's side as I hug her cold, limp, blood soaked hand to my chest.<br>"Don't worry," Lizzie reassures them. "She'll come back... I didn't hurt 'er brain."  
>Silence hangs in the woods for a long time, and not even the natural noise of insects and birds and trees and grass seems to be able to break it.<br>Carol steps towards Lizzie, aiming to take her knife. But quicker than I am sure of what my blurry eyes have seen, Lizzie drops the knife before anyone can do anything about it and aims her gun at Carol.  
>"No no no! We have to wait!" Lizzie cries. "I need to show you! You'll see! You'll finally get it!" She draws in a sharp breath, desperate for us all to hear her out. "We have to wait."<br>I freeze, staring in terror at her and feeling my spine fighting to convulse.  
>"Lizzie," Tyreese fights the emotion in his voice. "Put the gun down."<br>Lizzie turns to him, still training her aim at Carol. "I jus' want us to wait!" she begs.  
>"We can wait," Carol says and her voice shakes as she holds back her devastation. "We can wait. You jus' gimme the gun," she tells the shaken child, gingerly stepping closer with her arm extended for the gun. "We can wait, I swear."<br>Lizzie stares at Carol for a long time. Her frail and skinny body shaking violently and making her gun rock as it stays suspended in the air aimed at our friend. She turns to me, searching for my comfort, or input, or maybe just another target to aim at.  
>I bury my terror and pull my lips apart into what I hope will resemble a smile, knowing that the next few moments would most likely mean life or death for us if Lizzie loses her nerve.<br>Somehow convinced and comforted by my forced gesture, Lizzie turns back to Carol and finally lowers her gun, reaching forwards rigidly to hand it over.  
>"You, Oliver, an' Tyreese... should take Judith, back," Carol suggests, her voice closing on itself as she fights the cries begging to be released. "It's not safe for her."<br>"But, Judith can change, too," Lizzie states, looking over her shoulder to the baby as Judith watches everything happen with curious, naive, oblivions eyes. "I was jus' about t-" I almost lunge for the infant to protect her from Lizzie, but Carol speaks, stopping me in my tracks.  
>"She can't even walk yet," her voice is desperate, but she manages to stay nonchalant as she puts up an obliging front to Lizzie's psychotic intent, knowing that it is the only way that we are going to get Judith away from Lizzie without her hurting anyone else.<br>"Yeah," Lizzie shrugs. "You're right."  
>"So you three take Judith back to the house and we'll have <em>lunch<em>," Carol says, trying her hardest to act enthusiastic and smiling with her mouth, but all I see is devastation in her eyes. "An' I'll jus' tie Mika up. You know, jus' so... she won't go anywhere."  
>I stifle my wince, exchanging an accidental mortified glance with Tyreese.<br>"Promise that's what you'll do?" Lizzie asks, seeing Tyreese's wide expression. He forces himself to relax, nodding rigidly.  
>"Um hm. Promise," Carol lies. "I'll use her shoe laces."<br>An agonising moment passes. But my horror grows as I feel the cold emitting itself from Mika's tiny form, too cold, and it seeps through her clothing and leaks through to my skin. It's starting. The process is starting already. She's turning.  
>I look up at Carol desperately, opening and closing my mouth as I try form my words. But I don't need to say anything. Carol notices and gives me a fraction of a nod in an attempt to reassure me, but she looks back at Lizzie, forcing a smile to keep up her front.<br>Tyreese carefully steps forward and Lizzie allows him to lift Judith from the floor. He holds his arm out to me and I am almost not able to move from Mika. But he shakes his hand a little, snapping the rationality back into me. I gently lift Mika's upper body off of my legs. Using my free hand to cradle her head, I set her delicate form onto the grass. I keep hold of her hand, and then press my palm over her forehead for a second, silently saying goodbye to her. But I know that I have to move, so I rest her limp extremity on her chest and bring myself to my feet, using Tyreese's arm as support as my knees buckle under me.  
>"Let's, uh," Tyreese begins, bottling his tears as he reaches out to Lizzie and gently pulls her to walk with us. "Let's go, Lizzie."<br>We walk back to the house, and I can feel Mika's blood drying over my face and hands, sticking to my fingers when I move them. There's blood drying on my face too, it's cold against the Winter air and freezes me to the core. It's splattered on my lips as well, and I try not to move them so that I don't taste her blood. But my stomach flips in horrified repulse. _Oh no._  
>I break away from Tyreese, casually motioning them to keep walking as I stand rigid in the middle of The Grove, forcing the gags and heaves to stay hidden.<br>Tyreese stares at me, already devastated from what he has seen. "Oliver?" he mutters, exhausted and worried and desperate to get Lizzie back into the house.  
>"Hm?" I try to be nonchalant, forcing a smile as Lizzie watches me with her head tilted in curiosity. "G-go ahead. I'll... I'll be in in a minute," I say, resisting the urge to retch and gag and feeling the bile rising in my throat as my stomach convulses.<br>Tyreese nods shakily in understanding, before continuing onto the porch and entering the house through the screen door with Lizzie.  
>I force myself to stay together as I walk around the garden and go to the edge of The Grove. But I get to the make shift fence and fall to my knees, finally giving up my effort. I clutch to the barbed wire with one hand, feeling the spikes dig into my palms and using my other hand to stop me from collapsing to the soil, supporting my convulsing body as I heave. But there is no food in my body, so when my stomach has emptied itself of the small amount of acidic bile that was in there, I just continue to retch and heave nothing, afraid I will never stop, until finally I collapse from horror and exhaustion.<br>I curl up on the ground, feeling the pecans and twigs dig into my body and face, panting horrifically into the dead leaves and ticking insects that crawl past me, seeing some of them feeding on the small puddle of my vomit that pools a few feet away from me.  
>Too exhausted to remove myself from the floor, I just bury my face into it, breathing in the dirt and grass and wheezing again.<br>I bring my gaze away from the soil when I hear faint rustling. I think it's a walker, and a wave of further horror attempts to drown me as I search for the source. But my eyes meet the big, shiny, black orbs of a buck. It stands a few yards away from me. It's great antlers towering more than 4 feet above it's head, with it's wise and peaceful eyes watching me, comforting me; the strange creature that lays on the pecan scattered ground, broken and alone.  
>I stare at it, my body tensing and jerking when I breath, still trying to empty myself of The Nothingness that has taken me over completely, filling my mind and pulling me out of reality.<br>My mind floats to Carl. Wanting nothing in the entire world other than to see him step through the tree line a few yards ahead, out from behind the deer. Maybe even out from the deer itself. He would gather me in his arms. He would hold and whisper gentle comforts into my ear until I stop hurting. He would gather up all of my broken pieces from the floor and fix me again. I imagine him telling me that he loves me, telling me that everything will be okay soon and to go to sleep and wait for this all to be over.  
>I am almost unconscious when I feel someone place a hand on my shoulder. But I am too exhausted to react.<br>"Oliver?"  
>The voice is distant and muffled, burrowing into my mind as I try to block it out. But I draw in a deep breath, opening my eyes and seeing that the deer has disappeared. I fight to keep my eyes open as I stare ahead of me at the empty tree line, searching for him.<br>"Carl?" I croak through my burnt throat, thinking that somehow he has stepped out of my imagination and come to save me.  
>"It's me sweetie," I recognise Carol's voice, not Carl's, and it breaks my heart even more.<br>I close my eyes, feeling like I'm sinking, losing myself into hopelessness and falling through the soul until I am sure that I am buried 6 feet underneath it.  
>"Oliver?" Carol coos, her voice shaking from her sorrow as she gently pulls me to sit up. "C'mon. It's n-not safe out here."<br>I do as she says and pull myself to sit up. I wipe my mouth on my sleeve, hiccuping as another cry pushes itself out of me. "Did you do it...? Did you put her down?" I mutter.  
>I see her nod out of the corner of my eye and my face contorts. Tears stream down my cheeks and my despair stabs me in the gut, just like Lizzie did to Mika. I look Carol in the eyes, no longer strengthened by the familiar grey in them. Carol is empty, too. Drained of her courage and composure after what she has just had to do.<br>I lean into her and wrap my arms around her middle. She hesitates, worried that I will be afraid of the comforting intimacy, but after a few seconds I still don't recoil, so she envelopes me as well, gently rocking me in her arms like a baby. But I don't want her to stop. I don't have the energy or will power to pretend I am not breaking anymore.  
>So I cry. And Carol cries. And together, we cry over Mika, over our family, over The Prison, over the whole world for what it has turned into. For a long time, the tears and sobs and our embrace don't stop or weaver. And even when it does, and we are done and drained and emptied, it is not over.<p>

It will never be over.

**Notes**

Definitely not

Happy reading xx :_)_


	28. Chapter 28 Hidden In Plain Sight

**mks 12 98 **I wish that I had saved Mika. I really do. Every time I re-edit the last chapter I'm like, "Gah! I could have saved her somehow!" But ugh, I guess I'm too lazy.

**Guest **Thank you. BUt I assure you it is far from the best story on this site! Haha, but that you so much! Yeah, the deer becomes a very important symbol for the boys in later chapters. This one especially... hehee And no, Dan did not manage to Rape Oliver. He got close. But he only got as far as tugging on Oliver's jeans. So that's good. But I guess you realised that in chapter 23 :)

**ApocalypticFanfiction **Wow! I converted you into a Carl lover! Wow! Well, fuck, my job here is done. Jesus. My life is complete. I did it! Hahaha, only kidding. THANK YOU! SO MUCH! Hahaa, means so much you like my story.

**PrettyPrincess45 **Haha, thank you so much! Oliver appreciates the love!

Okay, I'm sorry about replying to the reviews late. I'm getting them really out of whack. So in some cases it is taking like 2 days for them to show up. But if you review this. Then. I. Will. Answer. THANKS!

HAPPY CHRISTMAS! I here by offer you FOUR chapters in one day as a gift. The final chapter will be their reunition. :) ENJOY, Y'all!

**Oliver's POV**

My whole body aches, pouring with a deep gut wrenching pang that has been emptied of hope and refilled of it over and over again, too many times. Like an elastic band ready to snap, stretching me until I am no longer able to bounce back.

Once me and Carol had returned to the house again and washed the worst of Mika's blood off of my hands and face, Tyreese had finished tending to Lizzie in her bedroom. Carol wanted me to stay in the living room with her and Tyreese and Judith, but I knew that someone needed to keep an eye on Lizzie, until... until it's decided what will happen to her.

"Are you sure?" Carol whispers to me, her hand rested on my shoulder. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to," I confirm, careful to keep the emotion from my voice, "I mean. It's still Lizzie in there... I'll be okay," I say, slightly pushing my confidence. "Ty? You took away her weapons, right?" I ask quietly so that Lizzie doesn't hear me from the bedroom.

Tyreese nods, watching me wearily as I exchange glances with them both. And without another word, I turn and walk down the hallway. I open my bedroom door, hearing the faint, familiar creek as it opens.

Lizzie is sat cross legged on the bed with the shoe box full of mice rested on her lap. Her sister's blood has been cleaned off of her hands and cheek, but I can see the crimson stains on the edges of her sweater sleeves, making me want to run away and throw myself down the well we have been getting all our water from. But I force myself to walk into the bedroom.

"Tyreese found it," Lizzie mumbles, staring down at the shoe box with a faint frown tugging at her brow. "Mika musta seen 'em an' left 'em on the bed."

"Are-" my voice cracks, so I clear my throat, forming my sentence again. "Are you mad at her?"

Lizzie looks up at me with her brow raised. "No. Why would I be?" she says, patting the bed beside her for me to sit. "She's my sister."

I pretend that her words didn't just stab me in the throat as I go and sit next to her. "I found the mice, under the bed. It wasn't Mika's fault anyway," I tell her nonchalantly.

Lizzie chews her lip and glances at me, "It's okay," she mumbles. "Will... will we give 'em to Mika? When she wakes up?"

"No," I almost bark, but I relax my face and curve my mouth, "uh, n-no, um, I... I don't think she'll like them."

"But you gotta give 'em to her. And the other walker on the tracks. Or they'll starve!" Lizzie becomes unhinged, she leans closer to me and her worried expression intensifies.

"I-I know," I get out, resisting the urge to leap away from her as my eyes try to widen, but I manage to stay calm and collected despite the screams raging through my sense right now, "and, we will. We will give them to Mika... th-the other walker, too."

Lizzie's eyes shift between both of mine, testing my honesty. I move my mouth into a smile, hoping that it won't give away my thoughts as I lie through my teeth. "I can help you find more if you want. We can take Mika with us?" I suggest, forcing the shake out of my voice and the grimace from my expression.

"Okay," Lizzie says, satisfied as she sits back again and leans on her palms. She smiles and then glances out of the window. "Thanks... she'll like that," she says.

"Yeah," I say as my skin crawls, but I force my smile to continue, feeling the corners of my mouth shaking in my effort, "n-no problem, Lizzie."

There is a long pause.

I overhear Carol and Tyreese talking, hoping that Lizzie can't hear them too because I catch sentences like "we can't sleep with her an' Judith under the same roof," and "she can't be around other people," and even "this is how she is... it was already there." I agree with them though, and it breaks my heart. Lizzie didn't just become messed up over night... this has been going on for a long time.

"Lizzie?" I break the whispers dancing in the silence.

"Uh huh," she glances from the window to me.

"How long, have, uh, have you been... feeding walkers?" I struggle to ask, as such a thing fights to sound at least a little bit sane in my mind, but even as I say it, I can't make sense of any part of it.

"I don't know," she answers, rolling her eyes back to think. "Um... after Mom changed, I think. Dad put 'er down before I could help 'er. But I finally got it. I finally understood what they really want. So... I jus'... started feedin' 'em, I guess - helpin' 'em."  
>"Why?" I ask, not really knowing what exactly I am asking for, just feeling desperate for an answer that makes sense to what we have all had to experience today.<p>

Lizzie furrows her brow in confusion. "They're not that bad, Oliver. They just want someone to talk to. A friend... I never had a friend other than Mika. I know how they feel. I can understand them... Kids used to bully me at school - follow me home and throw their lunch at me. Mika too, jus' 'cause she was my sister. Mom an' Dad tol' me it wasn't my fault... But, I knew it was." Lizzie pauses as she travels through the unsettling memories. "But then everything happened. An' we found a refuge centre, but that got overrun. Mom... died. An' it was jus' me, Dad an' Mika for a while. An' then a few others, an' then The Prison... An' I got new friends; Molly, Luke, Carol, Maggie, Glenn, Tyreese, Karen, Michonne, Daryl, Bob, Sasha, Beth, Rick, Hershel, Carl, Judith, Patrick... you."

I purse my lips and nod, only just truly taking in how little of us are left now out of that long list of people I still think of as my family. Always will think of as family.

"Yeah," my voice cracks and my smile fades, and I am rendered unable to bring it back any longer.

Lizzie watches me carefully for a long time as I try to compose my thoughts. "He... told me... to keep her safe," she says finally.

I look at her, arching my brow in confusion. "What? Wh-who?" I ask, pulling at my beanie hat in habitual discomfort.

"Carl," Lizzie answers.

My expression hardens and I hold my breath, too close to tears now that I am forced to use all of my focus not to let them escape.

At my silence, Lizzie takes it as her permission to continue. "The day of The Attack. While you an' Hershel an' Michonne were with The Governor," she says, and all of the names of the gone ring in my mind again, making me almost dizzy with guilt, "we were in The Office Blocks after Mika came and got me from A-Block... that was when the first explosion went off. Me, Mika, Molly an' Luke, ran to find Beth and Maggie. Carl was with 'em, too... an'... he told me to take Judith, find her baby carrier... he told me to keep 'er safe... So I did." Lizzie pauses, staring at me as she lets her last few words swim in the air and stick to my skin like leeches. "Mika was cryin'... Molly an' Luke ran away. So, I hid Judith. But I kept 'er and Mika safe. I killed two people to save 'em - saved Tyreese too... I kept 'em all safe... An' Mika is safe now... Really safe."

My body jolts slightly as I fight my hiccups. "Lizzie... Mika's dead now," I mutter, wiping a tear as it rolls down my cheek.

"No, she's alright. She's jus' changing," Lizzie argues, sighing like she is exhausted of having to repeat herself. "But everyone changes. We all change, we do."

I nod, unable to speak anymore.

Lizzie stares at me with her brow arched. "I don't want you to be mad at me... Oliver, please don't be mad at me?" she whimpers, beginning to cry as well.

Without hesitating, I wrap my arms around her and engulf her tiny form into a bear hug. She sobs silently into my neck, enveloping her skinny arms around me into a loose embrace.

"I could never be mad at you, Lizzie. I love you. You're my family, remember? Like a little sister," I coo to her truthfully, hiccuping as I press my lips to the top of her head and tears roll down my cheeks.

She hiccups, gently palming my shoulder blades as she nods. "Love you too, Oliver."

Using my hands, I wipe my face dry, making sure that the gut wrenching guilt and sorrow is completely gone from my expression before pulling away and smiling at her.

I pick up the box of mice, moving it from Lizzie's lap and placing it on the edge of the bed. "We'll give them to Mika later," I say softly.

"Do you think she's awake yet?" Lizzie asks, wiping her eyes on her shoulder and chewing her lip.

I dip my head for a moment, knowing that Carol already had to put the innocent child down. But I lift my gaze back to Lizzie and force a smile. "Nah. It's colder lately, so the process'll take a little longer," I say, gradually getting used to lying to the child now... and it disgusts me.

Lizzie nods. "Okay," she mumbles, her voice a little croaky with tiredness.

She scoots forward and leans on me, wrapping her arms around my middle as she rests her head on my shoulder. I close my eyes and rest my chin on the top of her head and my hand on her back.

We stay like this for a long time; Lizzie falling asleep on me while I think about what will happen to her now. But I don't make a list of options in my head, because as soon as one begins to form... it is too terrible to finish. So I blank my mind, trailing it back to when I was Lizzie's age instead. Before the outbreak. Sleeping in a bed that didn't have insect bites or blood or mould in it and didn't smell of rot. Eating the chocolate brownies my Mom would bake for me and Patrick and stealing most of Patrick's half without him noticing, but I was always convinced that he was doing the same to me too. For a moment, I am 12 years old and oblivious to what the world will turn into in just a few short years. Everything is simple and bright and pure. No death. No sadness. No violence. No hate. No murder. No loss. No guilt... Just the world in all it's glory, waiting for me to discover it.

Someone knocks on the door, coaxing me out of my imagination.

"Everything alright?" Carol asks gently through the wooden surface. Lizzie lifts her head from my shoulder to look at the door.

"Yeah," I say, not looking around as I hear Carol enter the room. A terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that I try to push away.

"Is she awake yet?" Lizzie asks hopefully.

Carol pauses. I keep my eyes on the bed sheets, hearing Lizzie's steady breathing near my ear. "Not yet," Carol clears her throat of her emotion as she composes herself. "But I was thinkin' you an' me could go an' pick some flowers for her."

"Yeah," Lizzie nods.

"But not yet. I gotta talk to Oliver a minute," Carol adds, forcing her nonchalantness. "You alright in here a second? We'll only be a minute."

Lizzie nods again.

I almost wince at her, hurting as the guilt burrows deeper into my chest. But I climb off the bed and follow Carol out of the room. We go into the kitchen, and I already feel tense at leaving Lizzie alone in her room without anyone with her.

There is a long silence.

"We-" Carol begins, but her voice fails on her. So she tries again, "we've decided what... has to- uh, needs... to be done."

I stay silent, offering something that was suppose to be a shift in weight but became a sluggish shrug of its own accord.

"Do you understand?" Carol asks, because no matter how mature this world has made me; in such a devastating circumstance I am still only a child to her.

"Um hm," I mumble my answer, tensing my expression and trying not to think about anything.

"You know what has to be done?"

"Yes."

". . . Okay."

"Do you..." I cringe before I finish, shaking me expression clear. "Do you need me... to... t-?"

"No," Carol snaps before I finish, her expression hard and mortified. "I'd never expect you to do something like this."

I nod gratefully, hiccuping and sighing at the same time. "Wh-when?"

Carol stutters before she looks away, unable to speak. So Tyreese speaks for her. "Now, Oliver," he says.

Something cracks in me and I almost leap at her as I grab the woman's hand. "Carol, p-please?" I beg, thinking for a moment that I am pleading for her to wait just a little while longer. But in brutal truth, I am pleading only for Lizzie's life, suddenly realising how unbearable everything that we have been talking about will really be.

"Oliver," her voice catches and she stares at me, her expression devastated but stern, fighting the shake from her chin as she begs me not to make this any harder than it needs to be.

But I don't move, I stare; hard and relentlessly, wincing as I try not to scream at her. Every muscle in my body shakes and I am afraid that I won't be able to stop myself from clinging to Carol to stop her from moving. But I hear Judith begin to cry and it snaps the sense back into me. I force myself to recoil back into the couch.

Carol doesn't look at me as she takes her hand back, rubbing it with her other as if my grasp had frozen or scolded her skin. She goes into the bedroom and a moment later comes back out with Lizzie. I keep staring at the floor, seeing out of the corner of me eye as the child holds Carol's hand.

"Can Oliver come, too?" Lizzie asks innocently as she breaks away from Carol and stands beside me.

I look up at Carol and watch helplessly as something seems to swamp her grey eyes, making them fill with sorrow and devastated frustration. She almost winces from it. But she buries her thoughts and makes the corners of her lips curve into a smile.

"No, Lizzie. Jus' you an' me," she answers.

Lizzie glances at me, but I look away; unable to bear what I know is about to happen to her.

The pang of guilt in my stomach intensifies, making me almost double over in agony. "It's okay, Lizzie. Go," I mutter with my eyes closed. But I know that she is not stupid, so I force my eyes to open and I finally look at her, taking her hand and almost having to shove my lips into a smile. "I'll wait. I'll see you when you both get back. Okay?"  
>Lizzie nods, squeezing my palm with all of her hand. "An' we can talk to Mika again? I can show you how?" she suggests hopefully.<p>

"Um hm," I nod, gently stroking the back of her dainty hand and swallowing the heavy rock in my throat.

"C'mon, sweetie," Carol says gently, holding her hand out to Lizzie.

The child's frail hand leaves mine, for the last time. And I watch, pretending that everything inside of me isn't caving in on itself as she skips away and takes Carol's hand, following her out and through the living room. I hear the screen door creak as they leave the house together. And then... total silence. Tyreese, Judith and I; we almost seem to drown in it. And it is so intense for a moment that I am almost sure that I can hear the almost mocking sound of the mice rustling and squeaking from inside of the shoe box in the bedroom all those doors away.

A while passes as I stare blankly at the blood stain on my jeans as it soaks into the brown couch throw. I try not to think of what I could have done differently. I try not to blame myself for Mika's death. But it is always when you try not to think about something that you are unable to help it. But then I hear Judith fussing again.

Glad for the distraction and needing Judith to keep it up for long enough to make me forget everything; I step off the couch and walk over to her and Tyreese.

He looks up to me as he tries to calm her. We don't say anything, knowing that there are no words to say. I gesture to have Judith and Tyreese hands her over to me. She settles almost immediately, relaxing and letting her delicate form melt into my torso as I hold her.

Tyreese stands from the table and goes over to the window, leaning over the sill to look out through the glass. I don't follow him, knowing that he is watching them, knowing that Carol has been left with no other choice other than to end Lizzie's life to spare all of ours.

_**It's your fault... It's your fault. **_I shake my head, bobbing Judith in my arms and refusing to take my eyes off of her, in fear that when I do, the remorse will creep into every part of me. But it's too powerful, and it fights its way into my mind. _**IT'S YOUR FAULT! ALL OF IT! ALL YOU, OLIVER! YOU FAILED TO PROTECT THEM AND NOW MIKA IS DEAD! NOW LIZZIE WILL DIE, TOO! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!**_ My guilt engulfs me, and I have to sit down before I collapse. Only, I don't make it back to the couch. I clatter to the floor against the wall at the edge of the hallway closest to the living room, using all my effort to break Judith's fall on me more than softening my own fall.

The crash hurts, but as long as I don't hurt the baby I don't care.

The silence hangs in the air like poison, making me want to refuse to breath it. I close my eyes, wincing as I anticipate the bullet that will end Lizzie's life, every moment becoming heavier and heavier... until finally:

**CLAP!**

I bury my face into Judith, crying silently, but too hysterical to stop myself. I can feel it eating away at me; the unbearable guilt. Just like Carol told me it would. Only it's worse now. It rips into me like the shot that still rings in my ears.

I pull away finally, letting the startled baby see around her again. Judith stares up at me as I rock her in my shaking arms, confused by why I am so distraught but staying quiet regardless, just watching me with her bright and pure eyes. Beth used to say that Judith could sense people's moods. I never used to believe her, thinking that she was too young and dumb to have such a gift. But now I know. She can see things better than anyone can. Her innocent and uncorrupted mind doesn't miss anything. Maybe she doesn't understand it all yet, but she still sees more than I ever could.

Judith sees what is hidden in plain sight.

Unlike me. Just like the ukulele in the suburb house and the silent K in Knife and Venus the pin prick planet... and now Lizzie... I should have noticed. I should have picked up on it a long time ago. I should have done something about it. Told Carol. Tried to talk to Lizzie about it more. Protected Mika. Protected Judith from seeing it all happen. But I didn't. I just pushed it to the back of my head and buried myself in my own self pity. _**But what if... like Mika said, "Everything works out the way it's suppose to"? What if it was better this way? **__No! How could you think like that?! __**Well, Mika and Lizzie are at peace now... away from all this. Spared from everything awful that this world has become. You've seen it. You've seen how terrible this world is. And you still want Judith to live in it? You still want her to live like this? Oliver? How could YOU think that? Isn't it selfish to want her to stay alive just so you can keep a promise to a boy who died a long time ago? **__No! No it isn't! It's survival! I know it may not make sense yet; why we still keep fighting. And I know that it is probably just human instinct for us to want to stay alive despite how awful this place has become now. But we need it! We can't just... give up! Not after everything we have all been through! Not yet!_

Tyreese comes over to me as I crumple further into the floor, fits of hysterical wheezes and wails forcing their way out of my lungs, unable to speak, or even think properly. He is crying too. "G-give her t-to me," he suggests through a shaky voice, not waiting for my compliance as he lifts the baby from my quivering arms.

I wrench myself from the floor and stumble into my bedroom, not wanting anyone to see me like this as I slam the door closed behind me. I rip off my beanie hat, my face contorting as I violently throttle the fabric, wanting it to be myself, wanting to rip away at all the bad that is growing in me and turning me into a monster. I curl up on the cold wood floor of my bedroom, wincing when the splinters dig into my knees and palms, rocking back and forth uncontrollably, glad as it makes my body ache even more than it was before, like I deserve the punishment for what I've been thinking. For a long time I keep rocking, feeling myself break apart more and more, until finally I collapse, my exhaustion and guilt becoming too great as I black out.

_I stroll through the forest, silently and sure-footedly stepping over tree trunks and logs, grazing my palms along tree trunks and bracken bushes, refreshed as the dew coats my hands. I look around me curiously, seeing the serene expanse of thick forestry surrounding me and listening to the natural noises, enjoying their song. _

_I hear something following me as I go. But I'm not afraid. I glance over my shoulder to smile at the buck as it steps over a log after me. "Come on. Here boy... that's it," I encourage the noble creature in a light coo, holding my hand out and slowly rolling my fingers to attract it._

_It snorts through its nose as if to mock me for my childish tones at it, before flicking its head backwards in playful contempt. His great antlers crashing into the branches above us and ensuing a downpour of cool dew over the both of us, falling from the leaves and foliage. _

_I hold my arms above me to shield myself from the water droplets, chuckling a little in nervous amusement. "Hey! Clumsy," I tease him, holding his beautifully imposing gaze and feeling my heart beat suddenly quicken with recognition, realising now that the strange and magnificent creature is in fact, Carl._

_He watches me, his wise, fiery, black orbs glistening proudly in the sun. _

_I relax my shoulders slightly and then casually motion him to follow me with my head. "Come on," I say gently, my tone a lot more dignified now that I know it's him._

_He dips his head in cooperation, and we both walk further into the undergrowth of the forest. The sound of his soft hooves patting the soil behind me playing naturally into the song of the trees and air rustling around us. _

"_It isn't too far ahead," I tell him, and he makes a low blowing noise to tell me that he understands, even though I am not entirely sure what this 'it' actually is._

_Finally, I step out into a small clearing, coming to a crystal clear lake with a small island situated in the middle of it. Reeds and lilly pads scatter across the water and the sunlight sparkles across the glistening surface, just like a place I read about in a book I fell in love with back at The Prison, and I know that this is 'it' we've been looking for; our secret place. _

_I am about to pull off my shoes, but I realise that I am not even wearing any, in fact, I'm not wearing anything. But my stark naked state doesn't seem to shock me, nor embarrass me at all despite the knowledge that I am not alone here. _

_I see his antlers stop a few feet to my right as we stand beside one another and look over the water for a moment. Before finally, I step into the lake and slowly wade across the water, worried for a moment that it will be cold on my vulnerable skin, but it's warm, like a tepid bath. So I keep going until my feet don't touch the floor anymore and I have to swim. I chuckle at the frogs and small fish that scramble out of my way, and then finally climb out onto the island and sit down with my legs folded underneath me on a soft bed of grass and pebbles. _

_I look across the water, smirking when I see him hesitating to go in after me. He sniffs the calm water, his strong breath rippling and breaking the surface. _

"_Come on!" I encourage, beckoning him over as his long, bay coloured face pops up from the water to look at me. _

_He calls out to me, wanting me to come back to him, the low, earth rumbling groan coming from the deepest parts of his great lungs. _

_I grin. "What're you afraid of? Worried your pretty coat'll get all wet?"_

_I almost swear I see his majestic eyes narrow in irritation at me, but he relents, dipping his cloved, right, front hoof into the water and grounding it on the stony ground under the surface. Hesitating again for a moment and subtly keeping me in his peripheral vision for his own reassurance, he finally walks in, eventually going far enough to submerge his whole body under the clear water and letting out a soft bleat of contempt as he does._

_I watch in awe, leaning forward onto my palms to get a better look of the tiny air bubbles breaking away from his smooth, mahogany fur and rising to the waters' surface. I make out the movement of his long, dark legs as they gracefully kick out behind him to help him swim towards me._

_Finally, he climbs up the shallow bank and stands a few meters in front of me, snorting slightly from his efforts and visibly a little uncomfortable from the water clinging and dripping from his soggy fur. But then he shakes. Like a damn dog! He rocks his whole anatomy from side to side, sending waves of water spraying away from him and all over me. _

_I instinctively grimace and hold my arms out to shield me. "Hey! Stop!" I laugh, turning my face away when the warm water splashes in my eyes._

_He seems to purr a rumble of amusement, before stepping over to me and lying down right beside me, close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating from his giant body. He looks out over the lake, breathing slowly and letting the sun begin to dry him. I gaze in admiration at him, staring at his four legs folded under his muscular and sturdy body, and the strands of wet, delicate fur that sticks out in awkward angles from his previous shake._

"_Carl?" I say quietly, resisting the urge to reach out and run my hand along his flawless coat._

_He glances at me, water dripping from his antlers and landing on the grass in front of me, his long, buck eyelashes bobbing delicately as he blinks. He exhales slowly and reaches his long neck over to me to sniff my face. I close my eyes as he blows out, sending my hair waving out in all directions like a hair dryer. _

_I smile and stifle my chuckling. "Thanks, Man."_

_Keeping my eyes closed, I hear his front leg pat the ground as he readjusts it to push himself a little closer to me, and then I feel the warm, soft fur of his forehead and then his strong skull beneath it as he carefully presses his head against mine. I inhale sharply, in fear that such a colossal animal could easily crush me if it wanted to. But I know that he won't hurt me. Carl would never hurt me._

_I slowly and instinctively lift my hands; my right finding purchase on the base of his left antler, gently closing my fist over the bony velvet; and then my left tentatively stroking over his smooth, long mandible, feeling the soft fur under my palm. _

"_I miss you," I whisper softly to him, feeling a lump form in my throat. _

_He presses his forehead against mine a little more, comforting me as he exhales. And a tear rolls down my cheek as I feel his warm, steady breath gust over my bare skin._

_But then, something amazing happens. _

_I become aware of a low buzzing sound, like a million bees swarming all around us. But I'm not afraid, and neither of us move away from each other. _

_The noise intensifies and I see the light brighten through my closed lids. So I open my eyes, only to see the whole world turning blinding white. I wince from the light and my breath hitches, but I keep hold of him, clinging to his antler and cheek, knowing that nothing will hurt us while we are here to keep each other safe. _

_Then, to my awe and wonderment, I feel skin. The fur retracts into the buck and becomes smooth and delicate and familiar, and my hold on the antler shifts and changes to smooth, soft hair... human hair. _

_I open my eyes, trying to focus on what has happened, to watch his metamorphosis take place, but everything is still too bright for me to see. So I scrunch my eyes shut and hold him for dear life, waiting for the deafening buzz and blinding light to fade. _

_And finally, it does. _

_My heart pounds and throbs at the same time, and I slowly coax my eyes to open. _

_Blue. _

_That's all I see. _

_Electrifying, flawless, deep blue, and it blinds me almost as much as the whiteness from a moment ago did. But I know this blue... I love this blue._

"_Carl," I breath in recognition, marvelling at the feeling of his perfect hair between my fingers as I cup the back of his head, and the delicate skin of his jaw as I run my thumb over it with my other hand._

"_Hi," he says quietly, smiling as he keeps our foreheads pressed together._

_Tears fall down my cheeks and I close my eyes, hiccuping as my joy and sadness overcome me. He wipes the tears away with his smooth, warm fingers, before gently snaking his hands around my nape and arching his neck to kiss me, and I kiss him back, indulging in his delicate, silken lips._

"_I miss you," I mutter again, moving my lips against his perfect skin, folding into him as he pulls me into a bear hug, both of us completely naked and exposed. But this isn't a sexual embrace, nor does it have anything sexual intended in it. We are simply here for each other, holding one and other closely and securely in an intimate and comforting entwinement._

"_I'm here, Oliver," Carl coos in my ear, "I'm here."_

_I hold him tighter, pawing his bare shoulder blades and burying my nose into the crook of his neck. I breath in his scent. I absorb his form, melting into him. Missing him so much and wanting nothing other than to live within his soul, safe and sound and happy. _

_But it's me who pulls away. _

_Carl purses his lips, taking both of my hands and delicately stroking his middle fingers along the small of my palms to comfort me. _

_My brow arches in sorrow. "They're dead," I mutter, knowing that he knows who I am talking about._

_He lifts his hand to the back of my neck, resting it there and gently pulling me forward to plant a gentle kiss on my forehead. "I know," he whispers against my fringe._

"_It's my fault," I whisper._

_The weight of his hand increases on my neck, squeezing gently. "You're wrong," he says simply, pausing for a long moment. "You can't take the blame for something you have no control over."_

_I hold him tighter, desperately wanting never to let go. "I don't wanna go back any more," I say, closing my eyes and fighting my tears._

"_You gotta," he protests tenderly, stroking the bobbles of my spine with his thumb. "You gotta go back, Oliver."_

_I attach my face to his neck, shaking it desperately and feeling my expression contort in frustration against his nape. "Please?" I beg, hiccuping and scrunching my eyes shut. "I can't go back... I-I can't do it anymore... Let me stay here, with you. P-please?"_

_Carl strokes my spine and I wrap my arms around him possessively, refusing to let go of him. "You don't have a choice," he says, kissing the crook of my neck._

_I just shake my head in silent pleading, protesting like a child._

"_My sister," Carl tries, "she needs you, Oliver. An' you need her, too."_

_It takes me a long while of silent inner conflict, but I finally pull away and bring myself to nod in cooperation and bitter acceptance, knowing that he is right._

_Carl gives me a reassuring smile, stoking my cheek and motioning me to follow him. _

"_Where are we going?" I ask, as he stands up and pulls me to accompany him._

_He turns to me as I wipe a few tears away, and I watch a smile spread across his lips and his brow rise. "Swimming," he answers, squeezing my hand and pulling me towards the water. _

_I stumble after him, confused by such an abrupt change of subject, but embracing it regardless. He crashes into the lake, laughing as his dives under the water and out of my sight._

_I hesitate for a moment, searching for his pale form to submerge from the water. "Carl?" I call, furrowing my brow as I wade into the water, trying to wait for it to settle so I can see better. A long moment passes, and my worry increases. "Carl!" I shout, cupping my hands to my mouth and kicking below me to keep my head above the water. No answer, and he still doesn't come back up. "Shit!" I hiss, swivelling around in the deep water to search more. "CARL! Dammit!"_

_I ready myself to dive under to find him, terrified that he is sinking to the bottom of the lake, reaching up for me to save him as he drowns. _

_I suck in a loud, deep breath, and go to dive. "Gyahhh!" I yelp at the sudden feeling of something yanking at my feet and pulling me under the water. Terrified, I wait for the teeth to tare through my vulnerable skin as my whole body is dragged down. I try to wrestle against it and I feel my body fighting to breathe as I claw for the surface, hearing my own muffled cries under the water and watching the blurry air bubbles leave me and make their own selfish escape. _

_But, no pain ensues, and then, I realise that the grabbing isn't grabbing at all. To my confusion and alarm, I feel two hands, warm and living and gentle, caressing my body and exploring every centimetre of my anatomy. _

_I stop fighting, still a little startled as I try not to sink further down into the lake. I feel the hands smooth and glide up my legs, over my abdomen, travelling up my rib cage, my arms, my spine, my shoulders, my collar bones, my neck... until they reach my face, tactilely cupping my jaw and holding me where I am; suspended over 50 yards under in the deep lake. I feel thumbs gently run over my cheeks and I finally coax my eyes open under the water, overwhelmed with relief as I see the bury outline of dark, brown hair, waving around in front of me in every direction, and the bright smile on his fair face, and the stunning blue of his beautiful orbs that are still vibrantly visible even through the blur of my water filled eyes. _

_He takes my hands, entwining our fingers and pulling himself closer to me, tangling our legs and melting our bodies together. We kiss, locking our lips in an under water embrace, our bare forms so close that we could be a whole person if we wanted to. The light shimmers over him, making his fair skin glow like the sun. Suddenly, I don't even want the air anymore as it patiently sits above us. And as Carl stays down here with me I know that he is experiencing the same liberating freedom, both of us only needing each other to keep from drowning. _

_I can't tell if we are rising to the surface or sinking further down, all I know is that I never want it to end. So I keep kissing him, basking in his soft, perfect lips. But eventually we break apart. Carl cups my cheek with his free hand, holding mine in his other and grinning as he motions his chin upwards to the surface, wanting me to follow him, his brown hair waving wildly with the movement. _

_We swim back to the surface, still holding hands as we break the water line, gasping and coughing for the air that swamps back into our empty lungs._

_Carl and I laugh with each other, half choking at the same time. He shakes his head to get his long, soggy hair out of his eyes, throwing it to one side to lay messily at a funny angle on the top of his head._

_I pull him closer to me and use my free hand to neaten his mop, smiling as I run the dark hair through my fingers and then plant a quick kiss on his lips, and when I pull away, I subtly lick the water from my lips and smile at him. _

_He chuckles, stroking his thumb over mine under the water and carefully kicking under him to keep the both of us above the water, as I have seemed to have given up swimming all together._

_I wait a moment, knowing that my time with him will be over soon, but feeling reluctant to admit it. "I have to go now, don't I?" I whisper, my expression saddening._

_Carl leans in and kisses me, drawing my lower lip into his mouth a little. "Yeah," he says against my lips as I hold him, before pulling his head away slightly to look at me. "I do, too." _

"_Where?" I ask, knowing that I have to go back to The Grove to protect Judith, but not having any idea where he has to go back to._

_Carl shrugs, a smirk spreading over his lips. "You know... Stuff... Things," he says, mimicking his father's Southern drawl for my amusement._

_I laugh at him, meeting his lips again. I run my tongue over his lower and letting him nibble at my lip, until finally, I pull away. "Okay, well, stay safe. Try to refrain from tickling walkers though, alright?" I joke._

"_Yeah, yeah," Carl droans sarcastically, rolling his eyes and chuckling as he pulls me in for one last kiss, and we wallow in each other's lips, before he breaks away and gently pushes me towards the bank leading back into the forest._

_I float for a moment, holding his gaze, before moving myself to swim over to the edge of the lake, climbing up onto the stony bank and turning to look back at him, confused when I see that he hasn't followed me. "Aren't you coming, too?" I call across the lake._

_I see him shake his head, water splashing around him as if flies off the ends of his hair. "Not yet," Carl says._

_For a moment, I think that he is about to wave at me, but both his arms raise up to the sky as if he is soaking in the suns' rays, or worshipping a God that he has found to believe in maybe. But then I realise what is happening when the blinding light returns to the forest, along with the deafening buzzing noise. So intense that I have to scrunch my eyes shut and clasp my hands to my ears to muffle it all._

_When it all fades again, I look back to where I saw Carl, amazed when I see the buck. His beautiful antlers protruding from the water as he snorts and calls to me with a low, rumbling groan._

_I smile at him, watching as he twirls around in a small circle in the lake, showing off his miraculous transformation to me, and I know he is proud that he looks so much like the buck he saw when he got shot all that time ago. _

"_Bye, Carl!" I yell across the water, cupping my hands to my mouth. "I love you!" _

_Carl groans to me, his animal call low and excited and gleeful. _

_And with that, I let myself drift from the forest. Sinking and floating and falling and flying and running and spinning all at the same time, leaving this secret refuge that seems to have been made for us, until I feel the real word begin to come back to me. Whether I want it to or not. _

I wake up to the sound of digging. The ecstatic buzz from my dream diminishing rapidly with every jab that impales the soil from outside, pushing me out of unconsciousness and throwing the events of the morning back into my memory, and along with it, my growing depression.

I sit up, using the ends of my fingers instead of my whole hands because my palms are still stinging from my splinters. Someone has put a blanket over me, so I pull it off and toss it on the bed. I take a deep breath, scratching the lines across my face from the dents that the wooden panel floor has marked me with. I clutch the side of the bed and stand up, feeling so weak that I am amazed when I don't pass out again.

I wander blankly across the house, my eyes feeling heavy with worn out devastation as I push the side door open, the same door that the walker used to sneak up on me Mika and Lizzie on the first day we arrived, when it flung itself over the balcony to get to us. I would do anything to go back to that moment though, maybe I could have saved them from all of this.

I lean over the banister, picking at the white paint as it peels off and crumbles in my palms, until I have a small mound of the craggy paint cupped in my hands. So I drop them, watching as the white flakes fall to the dead flower bed below, with the walker's scuff marks still scattered over the dirt.

Carol is digging, with Mika's body wrapped in a white bed sheet. I tense as I see the large red circle on her stomach, and then wince when my eyes find the other smaller circle of crimson on her forehead. Carol doesn't notice me, too focused on digging the girl's graves and burying her own sorrow and devastation.

"Hi," I say, my voice croaking from crying and sleeping, weakly announcing my whereabouts.

Carol startles a little. She stops digging and turns to look at me. But she recognises me and sighs, before doing something that would be a smile in any other circumstance.

"Where's another shovel?" I ask.

Carol opens her mouth to protest, to tell me that I am not strong enough. But I'm done sitting things out now, and my hard stare tells her that without needing any more words from either of us.

Silently relenting, she motions to the garden bench.

I go and grab the shovel propped against the outdoor furniture, before helping Carol dig; continuing with one grave as she does the other.

A while later, when my body is aching and my hands are sore from the forming blisters and stinging splinters, I hear Tyreese return, from where I wasn't sure before, but I know now as I see that he has got Lizzie in his arms, wrapped, like Mika, in a bed sheet with a red circle on the back of her head, still dripping through the fabric and running down Tyreese's arm.

My empty stomach flips and convulses, but I force myself not to retch as Tyreese gently sets Lizzie's body on the soil, and Carol and I keep digging until the graves are done.

The funeral is peaceful and calm. We lay wild flowers down on their graves, placing the array of bright yellow and pinks in a small, neat bundle over where their chests would be.

Carol and Tyreese say a few words to the girls; Tyreese telling of how much he loved them and will never forget them, and Carol repeating several gentle prayers to each dead child. I wait until they leave to say my own farewells to them, watching the two adults retreat back to the house before I kneel down between the two small graves, placing a palm on each loose mound of dirt and dipping my head.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to them both. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. And I'm so sorry that it had to turn out this way."

I wait a long time for my breathing to settle and my tears to slow.

"Enjoy the stars," I whisper to Mika. "Shine bright and beautiful... and, absolutely love being free, just like you always wanted. Keep an eye out on us, would you...? I'm not sure how much I deserve it, but I know that at least Judy does." I wipe my tears and turn my head to look at Lizzie's grave, stroking my thumb over the unsettled soil. "Keep your sister safe," I tell her. "Because you can now. Now that you're both up there in the stars, with your family. You can finally keep her safe the way you wanted... You can keep each other safe."

The tears dry on my cheeks, so I wipe them away, smearing the dirt over my skin. I remember when my grandmother died when I was 7. Whenever we went to take her flowers, my mother would kiss her fingers and pressed them against the soil of her mother's grave. So I do the same thing, bringing my right hand to my mouth and pressing the ends of my fingers to my lips, before pressing my hand to Mika's grave, feeling another tear roll down my cheek as the sorrow aches in my throat. I do the same for Lizzie's grave, before bringing my hands to my face and resting my cheeks on my knuckles.

"I love you both. So much... Stay happy and perfect and free," I tell them, before finally bringing myself to my feet and making my slow way back to the house.

_~ Later That Evening ~_

It's been quiet all day since... since everything happened.

I set the mice free; watched them scurry away through the garden and back to their real homes. We had the left over pecans for food, I had almost forgotten that I left them on the tractor bonnet. But I remembered as I was letting the mice go, a few minutes before it became too dark, and so brought the untouched snacks back for Tyreese and Carol, ignoring Mika's dried blood that was pooled over the earth where she died in my arms. We didn't eat much. I didn't want to eat any at all, but Carol wouldn't take no for an answer, "you need your strength," she kept saying, and Tyreese would nod in encouragement or thoughtless agreement.

But I am beginning to think that strength is severely overrated. I have been running on fumes ever since The Prison; Patrick dying, getting captured by The Governor, watching my home get torn apart, murdering a man in cold blood and looting from his corps, getting captured by those Claimers, losing my family again, losing the boy I love, and now this... but, somehow I'm still here. The same goes for Carol and Tyreese. But, I can't decide weather we are the lucky ones, or just very the unfortunate.

I curl up against the hallway wall with my knees folded underneath me and Judith sleeping in my arms. It's been quiet, and it's late, but we are all too distraught and tired to sleep now. Insomnia, I think is what it would be diagnosed as if we still had doctors and civilisation.

Carol and Tyreese are sat at the table, with the unfinished jigsaw puzzle still sprawled across the surface in front of them. Carol had asked Tyreese if she could talk to him almost half an hour ago - by the houses clock on the wall opposite me, but she hasn't spoken yet. They both know I am here though, so I know that they aren't waiting for me to leave. But as the minutes drag on and I obsessively watch the seconds hand tick the time away, I can't decide weather she has decided not to tell us after all.

But then, as the time rolls over into 12:16 in the morning, I hear something slide across the varnished surface of the table, and finally, Carol speaks.

"I killed Karen and David."

I almost don't process what she had said, too tired and exhausted to restart the clogs in my brain to remember something so far back in my time-line, even though it was less than a fortnight ago. But then it all clicks. And everything that happened before The Prison Attack floods back to my memory like a herd of angry walkers. The sickness, the murders... Carol's dissapearance.

I hear Tyreese's breath shake and my whole anatomy turns to stone; frozen in place. Terror washes over me as I remember how enraged Tyreese was to find his girlfriend dead, and the brutal fight he had with Rick when they went to investigate.

"I had to stop the illness from breaking out. I had to stop other people from dying," Carol says, her voice weakening on her as she finishes.

Silence... and it screams in my ears.

"It wasn't Lizzie. It wasn't a stranger," Carol says, pausing as she takes a deep breath. "Tyreese it was me."

I listen, paralysed to the floor as Tyreese shifts in his seat, and I am terrified that I will hear him throw the table across the room and lunge at Carol.

"Do what you have to do," Carol says, her voice thick with guilt and despair.

My breath hitches and I almost leap from the floor. But to do what? To say what...? So I stay where I am, listening intensely as my body and hands begin to shake, knowing that if I am not careful I will drop Judith, so I concentrate on keeping hold of her.

I hear someone grip the table, as the legs scrape slightly across the floor. I wince as the tension in the house builds and seems to increase in pressure, making me want to shrink to insect size and run away as far as possible. I anticipate his roar, or his scream... or his gun shot. But none of that happens.

"Did she know what was happ'nin'?" Tyreese struggles to mutter. "Was she scared?"

A long moment passes, but I can't see them, so I don't know if Carol responded.

"It was quick?" Tyreese adds.

"Yes," Carol struggles to tell him, the word shaking as they escape her. But I can tell that it is of truth. In the pause, as Tyreese processes what he has just learnt, I listen as his breathing shakes and hitches, and I struggle to keep my own breathing silent. "Do what you have to do."

My heart pounds and the hairs stand on end over my whole body. I pull Judith's tiny, sleeping form closer to me, desperately trying to protect her from hearing this, as if she will become sick from the guilt pouring through the house. As if it is diseased and we are all the carriers.

"I forgive you."

Carol draws in a sharp breath at Tyreese's words. And I have to stop my shoulders from convulsing in overwhelming relief. "I'm never gonna forget," he continues, his voice a low and raspy whisper. "It happened. You did it. You feel it, I know you do. It's a part o' you know... me too... but... I forgive you."

I hear Carol fighting her sobs. "Th-thank you," she says, her breath hitching.

"We don't need to stay here," Tyreese tells Carol.

I lean over the wall, glancing to them and Carol meets my gaze, looking like she is just about ready to erupt in her emotional agony. Tears stream down my face and she holds her arm out to me. I don't hesitate. Panting and hiccuping, I climb from the floor and rush over to her, and she wraps her arms around me and Judith, holding us tightly.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers into my ear, though speaking to all of us.

I pull away when Judith begins to fuss, and I move to sit on the spare chair at the table. I stare down at the baby, silently bobbing her in my arms and comforting her back to sleep again. I look up to them both when she settles, wiping my eyes on my sleeve.

"We _can't _stay here," I tell them.

_~ The Next Morning ~_

We decided to leave first thing. We packed silently, filling our 3 bags with everything we might need. Which didn't turn out to be all that much since we didn't want to take a lot from the house. Too many ghosts.

I have my clothes, still stained with Mika's blood; jeans, short sleeve top, flannel shirt, all borrowed a long time ago from Carl, and my boots and my beanie, a duffel bag full of supplies, my glock in my holster around my waist and Judith on my spine in her travel sack. Carol gave me Lizzie's knife. I didn't want it. But she told me that it would be of more use to me to have it, and Mika's is too small, and like I've said before; it's useless to argue against the woman. So I sheathed the blade that murdered a little girl around my waist, opposite my gun, hoping never to have to touch it, but keeping it there all the same.

I take one last glance around the house, seeing Grazelda Gunderson still lead on the floor in the living room where Mika left the doll.

"C'mon," Carol says, holding the screen door open for me.

I look at her and nod, doing as she says as I head out of the house.

We leave through the fence, leaving it open and not looking back as we step over the burnt corpses still left on the floor. Leaving it all behind us. All the guilt, all the regret, all the anger and the sorrow. All of the ghosts. Never forgetting. I could never forget what I have been through... what we have all been through. But like Carol said; our past is there to make sure we don't forget. To help us learn to live with what we have to do.

We head back to the tracks. The walker is still there. Mocking me. Scolding me for not feeding it the mice like I told Lizzie I would. But I ignore it, refusing to let myself feel guilty about anything else that I had, no-... have no control over, just like Carl told me in my dream.

I can't change what has happened. No one can. But I can change myself. Lizzie said we all change. And it's true. But I can't let myself change for the worst. The monster inside, the same monster that Carl was so afraid of becoming; I can feel it in me, too. And what I have had to go through is making it harder to ignore. It is changing me, making me darker and more willing to do things that will tare away at my humanity. But I know I can stay good. I know I can. I have to do it for Carl. With Carol and Tyreese and Judith to help me. I can stay human. I can stay me.

I can stay Oliver De Luca.

**Notes**

What did you think of the Oliver's dream? Carl was only a buck at the beginning because before Oliver wanted him to step out of the buck he saw, so I guess he just dreamt that he did or something... I'd say it was one heck of a wet dream... ya know... 'cause they were swimming... XD sorry, but I had to put that pun in there... I know, I should be ashamed XD

Preview: In the next chapter I was going to just start Season 5, but I have some unfinished business to clear up with Carl and Co. No more than one or two chapters though, just a few things with the claimers and terminus I have to sort out :D.

Don't forget to review! X

As always,  
>Happy reading xx :<em>)<em>


	29. Chapter 29 The Claimers

_~ Five Days After Oliver left The Grove ~_  
><strong><br>Carl's POV**

It's been thirteen days I think; since The Prison Attack, since Judith. And about six days since the outdoors store... eight days since Oliver died. It took an extra few days out of our journey when we reached a tunnel. There was a message on the wall in dried walker blood, I hope at least. But it was so sun washed and craggy that we couldn't make out what it said. Michonne was sure she could read the word "Glenn" in it. But I wasn't convince and neither was Dad. I knew we should have gone straight through the tunnel but of course he wouldn't allow it. So, we took almost three days longer to go around it because the track turned underground and we almost lost it. But we found our way back, eventually, but it cost us an extra day.  
>I don't know why I'm counting. I don't even know if I am right. I could be out by a day or two somewhere. Maybe I'm out by a week, or maybe even a whole month. It's hard to tell these days. If Oliver was here he'd know. He was always one to rely on for keeping the date. It's the middle of the apocalypse and my boyfriend still made the bed, still kept his articulate accent, still tracked the date and time, and still sacrificed his life to keep his family safe.<br>Earlier today while we were checking the snares Dad had set up, we heard someone screaming... I thought it was him for a moment. I thought it was Oliver. And even as I was running to save him I knew, deep down, it wouldn't be. And of course, it wasn't him, it was just some guy. I still tried to help him though, but there were too many and Dad didn't let me shoot. I saw him die. I watched from the tree line as the stranger was torn apart and devoured, screaming for the help that I refused him. Anyway, some walkers saw us and we had to run.  
>And that's how we got here; Dad and Michonne preparing the rabbit the snare had caught, and me, staying out of the way in the passenger seat of the blue, useless, flat tyred vehicle parked and abandoned in the middle of the road. It smells of rust and dried blood and rot. And I hate to admit it, but I am actually used to the smell.<br>A few minutes later, when my stomach is so empty that I am not even sure I remember what it feels like to have a full belly, Dad whistles for me. "Carl. 'S ready," he calls to me, and I see through the cracked windscreen as he motions me over.  
>I climb out of the truck, hearing the hollow creaking of the rusty door as I ground my feet on the dead leaves below me. I close the door, squinting from the bright orange glow of the setting sun as I amble over to Dad and Michonne. I smell the rabbit, and suddenly my appetite screams to be satisfied, making my stomach growl so loudly that Michonne and Dad both smirk at me. I purse my lips in mild embarrassment and sit down on the road next to them with my legs crossed, watching intensely as Dad serves the skinny rabbit to us.<br>I take my leg and meagre palm full of the cooked creature, taking my time to eat it in thinking that it may make it feel more filling, but in truth it does almost nothing to ease my hunger and the meal is unsatisfying either way I eat it.  
>"Terminus should be less than a day's walk away, now," Dad says, training the subject away from food.<br>I finish my rabbit and keep my mouth shut in silent agreement, not knowing what to respond with that isn't along the lines of "I hope they have corn and pudding and M&M's and cheese burgers and pizza and..." I shake my head clear of my thoughts, almost losing myself in them and swallowing the saliva in my mouth.  
>"Might be s'mother kids," Dad tries, and I realise that he is still holding onto the slither of hope that I might somehow go back to being a normal kid after this.<br>I had made the compromise back at The Prison, abiding by Dad's ways. But now, I simply am never going to go back to that, and my hard stare into my father's identically blue eyes to mine communicate that message without me needing to use words.  
>He gets the message, and looks away.<br>"D'you think anyone else'll be there?" I ask without much true thought to the question, just saying it to veer away from the subjects we are all trying to avoid anyway.  
>Dad and Michonne exchange a glance, before looking back to me. Dad shrugs, "Not sure," he answers. "It's not impossible that someone coulda gotten out, too," he says, but the thing is, this time I can sense that he might actually believe his words.<br>But I remain sceptical, despite the fact that I was who had asked in the first place.  
>"I'm still betting that we weren't the only ones," Michonne gives her quiet input, finishing her rabbit because somehow she managed to eat it slower than I had eaten my portion.<br>They continue to talk about it for a while, but to be honest, I kind of zone them out; unintentionally daydreaming about running into people from The Prison at Terminus, where the walls are tall and secure and they have comics and pizza and cotton candy. Glenn is there, Maggie too, and Beth, Daryl, Carol, Sasha, Tyreese, Bob, even Lizzie and Mika, and Molly, and Luke. But then my daydream becomes too unrealistic, and Hershel is there too, and then Judith and Mom, all greeting me and telling me how much they have missed me... and then Oliver is there.

"Carl..."

I jolt awake at Dad's voice. Dazed and heart palpitating I gasp when I sit up, only just realising that I had fallen asleep sprawled on the road as I feel the dry, itchy, dead leaves sticking to my face. "Mmoah," I mumble, not even knowing what I am trying to say as I rub my eyes free of the sleep and my cheeks of the foliage.  
>"Carl," Dad says again, a smirk fighting its way into his expression, "go an' sleep."<br>I shake my head. "I'm not tired," I grumble, trying to convince myself as my stubbornness refuses to admit defeat.  
>Dad looks at me incredulously. "You've been asleep on the ground for a while," he says, letting the smirk show. I notice that the sun has completely disappeared and it is almost pitch black. It scares me how unaware I can be sometimes. "You're exhausted. Go sleep," my father protests again.<br>_Why the hell didn't he wake me up_ _earlier_ _then?_ I hold my tongue, knowing that an argument would be pointless. So I relent and pull myself to me feet to go back to the truck.  
>"G'night. Wake me up later for watch," I say, though I doubt that they will, and I ignore my irritation of that knowledge.<br>I climb back into the truck, wondering whether or not if I want to sleep in the back so that I can lie across the seats for more comfort, but deciding against it in the hope that I will wake up from the discomfort a little later and take over for watch for Michonne or Dad. Because if they aren't willing to wake me up, then I will just have to do it myself.  
>I push the seat back slightly and close my eyes, exhaling as I try to let myself melt into the worn leather and trying hard not to think about the mould growing out of the seams.<p>

~  
>"<em>Hey," he whispers.<em>  
><em>I swivel around, feeling, but not feeling the gravel shuffle under my jeans as my knees scrape on the floor. But I don't see the source of the voice. I don't see him. So I turn back around, shaking my head clear of his voice and trying not to get emotional about it.<em>  
>"<em>Hey."<em>  
><em>Again, I hear his voice. But when I look around the spotless courtyard I don't see him. In fact, I don't see anyone, not even any walkers lined up against the fence trying to claw their way in here. But despite the fact that the last time I saw this place was when it was torn apart by The Governor and his soldiers, the blood-and-corps-free prison doesn't seem to surprise me at all.<em>  
>"<em>Oi! Don't ignore me, Man," his voice is right in my ear.<em>  
><em>I startle and search for him as I look to my left. "Oliver?" I mutter, suddenly breathless as his name leaves my lips. I feel a tap on my right forearm, the opposite direction I heard him, and gasp as I spin my head to look.<em>  
><em>I see him, and my heart leaps out of my chest in joy and relief and despair.<em>  
><em>Oliver grins at me, pleased that he has caused me such confusion and turmoil so quickly. I stare at him in awe, taking in his familiar features. "Hi," is all I say, so overwhelmed with my emotional overload that I simply don't even react to it, despite the storm of relief and despair raging through my soul right now.<em>  
>"<em>Hi," he says back,<em> _mimicking my_ _weak and breathy_ _tone_ _to mock me_ _and_ _folding his legs under him to sit cross legged beside me._  
><em>I move to face him, struggling as my arms and spine tense and shudder slightly. "Are you real?" I ask stupidly, not knowing what else to ask.<em>  
><em>Oliver smirks, before leaning forward and crashing our lips together. I kiss him back, losing myself in his lips, yet missing them so much. And even now as I try to revel in his lips, I only miss them even more. He pulls away, his expression straight and sympathetic and sad. "Do I feel real?" he asks me dubiously.<em>  
><em>I stare at him for a long time, feeling a lump form in my throat. ". . . No," I answer, because I know that I am only dreaming of Oliver again. Like I have done every night since he died. And every single time he asks me if I think he is real, and every time I tell him the same thing. Because he doesn't feel real. He's not real. Nothing, not even a figment of my imagination can ever feel like Oliver again. And it breaks my heart to know that. But there is nothing I can do about it. "I'm sorry," I apologise weakly, grazing my thumbs across the back of his wrist.<em>  
><em>Oliver closes his eyes and purses his lips into a sad smile. "I know, Man," he sighs, taking my hand and lacing his fingers between mine. "Me too."<em>  
>"<em>What're you doing here?" I ask softly.<em>  
><em>Oliver waits a long moment, furrowing his brow in deep thought and consideration before finally answering me. "I'm rescuing you," he mutters.<em>  
>"<em>Rescuing me? From what?" I ask, feeling myself leaning in to him in eagerness for his answer.<em>  
><em>Oliver shifts his weight, pursing his lips uneasily to prepare himself for answering me. But something rustles, or snaps maybe, only, it doesn't sound like it is coming from my safe haven of a dream that I have subconsciously retreated to every night for over a week now. It came from outside, in the real world through my sleeping ears.<em>  
><em>I exchange a glance with Oliver, both of us confused and distracted by the noise. "What was th-" I begin. But suddenly, voices invade my imaginary world, shaking the whole place like an explosion or earthquake.<em>

"**Oh deary me! You screwed up ass hole!"**

_Oliver and I startle, searching around for whatever it could be, whoever it could be. I feel him grab my hand and I look at him, alarmed to see how concerned he looks. "Carl. You need to wake up," he urges._  
><em>I stare at Oliver, panting in my worry<em> _but_ _reluctant to_ _obey him,_ _because I know_ _that if I wake up_ _I will have to_ _wait a long time to see him_ _here_ _again._

"**You hear me? You screwed up!"**

"_Carl," Oliver urges desperately, his voice raspy and panicky, shaking my shoulders to try to force me to leave my dream. "Wake up, Carl. Now!"_  
><em>Somehow, I begin to do as Oliver says, feeling myself fading from my imaginary safe haven and being pulled back into reality. "Will you be here?" I insist, feeling his hand fade through mine as I begin to sense the real world around me.<em>  
>"<em>Yeah,<em> _of course,__" __Oliver answers, his voice_ _becoming distant and ghostly, "always."_  
><em>I try to tell him<em> _that_ _I love him, that I will come back to see him as soon as I can._ _But I fall back into the useless bluetruck_ _abandoned in the middle of the road before the words can leave my dry throat._

I open my eyes, feeling my heart pounding and a horrible pang in the bottom of my gut. But to my confusion, the moon is still out, shining it's toe nail shape down on my face as my eyes adjust and focus on it. I begin to feel annoyed; bitter that I had foolishly woken myself up for no reason and cut short the limited time I have with my dreams... and with them; Oliver's ghost. And I almost begin to attempt to go back, but I see a figure strolling towards the truck. I think it is Dad at first, coming to bid me good night and tell me that we will be heading out early in the morning, or maybe to wake me for keeping guard like I was so sure he would avoid doing.  
>But it's not my father.<br>My heart and stomach drop to the floor of the rusty, old truck and my eyes widen, startled as I think it is a walker.  
>But it's not even a walker.<br>The terrible sneering noise coming from his bearded, wiry, brown haired face almost makes the truck windows rattle. He grins horribly as he stands right by the glass, his large frame towering over me like a greedy sky scraper.  
>But in my daze I just stare at him in disbelief for a moment, panicking too much to do anything and refusing to believe that he isn't just part of another nightmare.<br>But I startle again as I hear the voice that pulled me from my slumber. "Restitution. Balancing o' the _whole_ damn universe," the southern drawl states, booming through the dark over where Dad and Michonne are being held.  
>The man outside my window slaps his palm against the glass, snapping me out of my daze as I watch his cracked and worn skin turn white from the pressure he uses. I sit up and stare wide eyed at him, unable to slow my panting. But then he raises his other hand. I flinch as the metal knife in it clinks and scrapes across the glass, making my blood curdle as I push myself as far as my seat will allow to make as much distance between me and the man.<br>"Shit!" the Southern Drawl outside exclaims, and my heaving breath increases as I see that he is holding a gun to my father's temple, "an' I was thinkin' o' turnin' in for the night on new years eve!" His laugh is like the hyenas' in a movie I remember watching from when I was a kid; raspy and menacing.  
>The large man at my window sneers at me, tapping the end of his blade against the window a few times and each clink that emits from the weapon makes me finch no matter how much I try to hide it.<br>"Claimed," he mutters.  
>"Now who's gonna count down the ball dropper with me," the southern drawl mocks, cocking his gun at my dad. And as he counts down, the man at my window continues to sneer at me, staring hungrily as I sink into the seat, overpowered by dread and terror for myself and my family. "Ten Mississippi. Nine Mississippi. Eight Missis-"<br>"Joe!"  
>My stomach jolts at the interruption and my head swivels to look for the voice that I could recognise from a mile away, no matter how long ago I had heard it. But my suspicions are proven when I see the black waist coat and trade mark angel wings on the back of them.<p>

Daryl.

My breath hitches loudly. I watch in awe as the man I believed to be long dead ambles towards 'Joe' and his other group members. "Hol' up," he urges, almost side stepping and holding his arm out to show his submission. _What the hell is he doing with these guys?!_  
>"You're stoppin' me on eight, Daryl," Joe scolds, glaring wearily at The Respected Red Neck.<br>Daryl stops a few feet away, and I try not to look at the large man as he leans against the side of the truck, swaying the whole vehicle with his weight. "Jus' hol' up," Daryl insists, doing well to keep the desperation out of his voice.  
>"This's the guy that killed Lou, so we got nothin' to talk about," another man says bitterly.<br>Confusion sweeps over me for a moment. I have no clue who 'Lou' could be and I rack my mid as I try to figure it out. But then I remember Dad telling us of a man that he had to kill in that suburb house to escape and I know this must be who the man is talking about.  
>"The thing 'bout nower days is we got nothin' but time," Joe protests, then motions to Daryl. "Say your peace Daryl."<br>There is a short pause as Daryl collects his words. I know this must be tough for him because The Dixon has never been a man of much talking, especially talk aiming to convince others of something he cares about; his brother being a good example. "These people - you're gonna let 'em go. These're good people," he tries, struggling with his concern and fighting his frustration to it.  
>"Now, I-I think Lou would disagree with you on that," Joe argues nonchalantly. "I'll o' course have to speak for 'im an' all, 'cause your friend here... strangled 'im in a bathroom. . ." He pauses, and glances over to me in the truck, a smirk burrowing its way across his deeply wrinkled expression.<p>

"I see the kid didn't find ya'll in the end then?"

My heart drops. Right through the truck and to the leaf smothered road under it, oozing through the cement and soaking into the earth.  
>Joe sees my mortified reaction and sneers, "Christ... for a moment there I thought you were him, back from the dead or somethin'... Oliver, I think he said his name was, that right?" he mocks me cruelly, and I use every ounce of my strength not to leap from the truck and murder him right here. Joe turns back to Dad and Michonne, ignoring my fury. "You see, I thought it was him that killed ol' Lou... but Tony here," Joe motions to the man wearing a bandanna who is pointing his gun at Michonne, "he says he saw <strong><em>two<em>** guys under the bed – You-" he jolts his gun forward into my father's temple to gesture to him. Dad flinches, gritting his teeth and curling his lips into a grimace, "an' the boy..." Joe finishes.  
>My chest heaves, and I refuse to look at the man by my window as he grins at me. Joe glances back at me, staring hard at the pain in my expression. "Poor kid," he says, referring to Oliver and suddenly bursting out into deep, throat rumbling cackles that send chills of fury down my spine.<br>"Tell me what happened to 'im?" I get out through gritted teeth, the command forcing its way out of my grimacing lips before I can stop it.  
>Joe seems surprised by my temper and scoffs at me, almost as if he is scolding me for my reaction. My anger consumes me, pure hatred fuelling my shaking body as I glare at him.<br>"After what he went through," he says, purposely not answering my question and beating around the bush - prodding the bear before it attacks him, before I attack him, "we weren't countin' on him escapin'... but I s'pose where there's a will there's a way, ain't there?"  
>Everything crumples. My expression widens and contorts and drops at the same time of its own accord and adrenaline pumps around my body, threatening to knock me out all together. But I stay paralysed as his words reel through my mind, wondering desperately if I had really heard him right.<br>"It weren't 'til Dan went back to finish what he started, after ya'll let Lou come back, that we realised he was gone... Determined kid, I'll give 'im that."

_I want to gut him and feed him his own entrails._

"I was sure he'd o' found ya'll by now... if he lived," Joe's smirk straightens and goosebumps ripple down my whole body, dread and rage and devastation clouding over my senses. "I guess not."  
>I almost kick the door open and lunge for him, not caring if I am caught by the monster leaning against the truck, in fact, looking forward to murdering him too. But Daryl speaks before I make my convulsing muscles work properly, stopping me in my tracks.<br>"You want blood," Daryl doesn't ask, already knowing the answer. "I get it," he adds. I watch, shaking with fury as Daryl drops his crossbow on the floor and holds his arms up submissively. "Take it from me, Man," he offers.  
>Joe stares at him in what seems to be remorse, or maybe disappointment, waiting for him to take back his word.<br>But Daryl doesn't relent, "c'mon."  
>"This man killed our friend," Joe replies, slowly recomposing his expression to the hard and merciless one it was before. "You say he's good people," he continues, shaking his head and pointing a finger. "S-see that right there, i-i-is a lie!" Joe raises his voice, stuttering in his madness as he lifts his brow irritably at Daryl. "It's a LIE!"<br>A tall man marches to Daryl and before he can do anything, whacks him in the stomach with a loud bash as his fist slams into him. I startle, feeling my body tense as I watch the tall man and another man beat Daryl to the ground. I stare at them as Daryl doubles over and is kicked in the stomach, my heart pounding and head spinning, still in shock by what I had just found out. _Oliver escaped!_ But something draws my attention from that, only for a moment, but as I stare at the tall man, recognition sweeps over me in a wave of terror as I see the sheath strapped over his leather jacket... and the red handle of Oliver's machete sticking out of it.

"Teach 'im fellas," Joe orders. "TEACH 'IM ALL THE WAY!"

My face contorts in useless rage, gasping as the men wrench Daryl from the ground and slam him against the truck, violently racking the whole vehicle and me inside of it. My eyes meet The Dixon's, and for a moment he holds my gaze in horrified intensity, silently wanting to reassure me. But we both know that this isn't going to end well. And this fear is only amplified when Daryl receives a brutal fist to the jaw from the tall man and a splatter of his blood sprays over the glass in front of me as he spins around from the force.  
>But that's when I hear the truck door creek open and before I can fight against it, two hands grab me by the collar and shoulders and roughly pull me from my seat. "Augh! Gugh!" I grunt, struggling against the man as he slams the truck door closed behind me.<br>He sneers in my ear, shoving me to stand a few feet from the truck to see everything.  
>"YOU LEAVE HIM BE!" Dad roars, attempting to help me, but he is shoved back into a sit before he can do anything.<br>I can feel the knife against my throat and terror engulfs me. I try to push his hand away but he's too strong. The tears begin to fall, too overwhelmed by all of this to cope anymore, and my reaction only seems to amuse the man.  
>"Shh, there, hey, shhh," he whispers fear in my ear, making me wince and pull my head away from him as far as I can, repulsed by his foul breath bleeding over my skin, thinking only if this is what he did to Oliver too... if he had to go through this, and what Joe meant by everything he had said. <em>Oliver escaped, but did he live? Did he try to find us? Did we leave him there, missing him by a hair as we began to follow the tracks? Did Oliver die because of my own lack of faith in his survival?<em> _Oh god... is he even dead?_ I almost go limp in my turmoil, sinking away from everything before I have to witness it.  
>"Listen," Dad tries desperately and the horror in his voice is unbearable "it was me! IT WAS JUS' ME!"<br>"See now that's right!" Joe muses, glancing at me as I try to pry the man away from me. "Not some damn lie! We can settle this, we're reasonable men."  
>I whimper as the blade of the man's knife presses against my jugular and I can feel him press his groin against the small of my spine. I try to reach for my gun, but he grabs both of my hands and holds them in just one of his with an iron grip.<br>"First we're gonna beat Daryl to death," Joe says. I can hear the struggle behind me as the men beat him. "Then we'll have the girl... then the _boy._" My blood drains from my face and extremities in disgust, knowing exactly what the monster means by 'have'... and knowing that they did the same thing to Oliver... "And then we'll shoot you an' we'll be square."  
>The man holding me releases both of my hands, and I don't hesitate to take that as my opportunity to grab for my gun. But no such luck has ever been easy to come by, especially now, and I am cruelly reminded of this when before I can even move, I am jolted off balance at a hard shove to my shoulder blades. The force so powerful that it pushes a grunt out of my lungs as I hit the road under me, crashing to my hands and knees.<br>I see the knife clatter to the floor by me face and I try to swivel round to grab it, wanting to face the man to try to fight him. But I'm not fast enough, and my efforts are futile. He pins me to the floor and laughs in my face. My eyes scrunch shut and my mouth contorts in my struggle as I fight him. I throw punches. I lash my hands out at him to claw at his face. But he grips my arms and pins them by my ears, thrusting his pelvis as he holds me down with a knee gripping either side of my waist.  
>"Aggh!" I cry, trying to beg him to stop but everything is squeezing me, forcing my words and screams into choked grunts and sobs.<br>"Stop your squirmin'," he groans, his terrible voice sending my ears and mind reeling in horror. He brings his face down to touch his lips to my cheek, muttering, "I ain't lettin' you get away this time."  
>"D-don't!" I get out, wriggling as far away from him as the cement will let me, scrunching my eyes shut and wishing that I could sink into the road and bury myself under it away from him.<br>"LET 'IM GO!" Dad growls, and I only just hear him over the man's stomach churning laughter in my ear, grimacing as I feel his sour breath crawl over my skin.

**BANG!**

I startle at a gunshot, wriggling under the man to try to get free of him, but his hold doesn't weaver and as soon as he regains his composure after his surprise from the gunshot, he has a tight hold of me again.  
>Terrified that my father has been shot, I force my head back to look for him. But what I do see confuses me, so much so that everything else I am going through right now is pushed away for a moment and all I see is Joe stumble away from Dad, holding his nose and cursing inaudible insults at him. And then I see the expression on my father's face; his eyes droop and his head twitches in a kind of deranged frenzy... almost like a walker.<br>I try to call out for him, but the weight on my torso is too great and all that escapes me is a chocked grunting murmur. But I ignore the man on top of me, instead just watching in terror as my dad swings around and throws a fist at Joe's face, causing the man to almost fall over.  
>Something flickers in me, somehow overpowering every other horrible emotion in my mind... hope. And for a tense moment as I keep struggling, and the man keeps squeezing and smothering me, I almost let myself believe that Dad can save us.<br>But the hope diminishes like a blown out flame when Joe regains his balance before my dad can attack again, socking him around the jaw so hard that my father crashes to the ground and is almost knocked unconscious.  
>"I got 'im!" Joe says, brutally kicking Dad in the gut. "Oh, it's gonna be SO much worse now!"<br>In the commotion, the man lets my hand go for a moment. I reach for the knife that he had dropped previously, searching blindly for the weapon that I desperately need to save me. I feel the cold, smooth metal and grab for it. But in my tandem, I don't see what I am doing and the blade shreds into my skin, cutting my palm and fingers. I try to close my fist around the knife, not caring if I slice my hand open to get it, but I miss, and instead my hands dig into the gravel and I feel it tare my knuckles as they scrape over the jagged surface.  
>"Gyagh!" I cry out in pain.<br>The man sneers, grabbing my hands and waving them in front of me to mock my struggle, shushing me to calm down. But I only fight more, too terrified for rationality as I feel his hands grope under my jumper, and in my panic I grab for them to stop him. I try to beg him to stop, but my lungs are being crushed and I can't form my panic filled cries into words.  
>Another gunshot, but nothing changes, and I am too overpowered to manage to see what has happened.<br>"Come on! Get up!" I think I hear Joe roar, mixed with the grunts and growls of my father as he meets his true match, and is losing against it. "Come on! Let's see whatcha got!"  
>The man laughs at my struggle and brutally shoves me over onto my front in one movement. I am helpless against his strength, grimacing and crying out as he lets all of his weight crush me underneath him. Agony shoots across my right cheek as the monster crushes my head under his hand, squashing me into the road. I can feel his free hand rub down my back and under my clothes, groping my body. And just when the terror is too much to cope, his disgusting hand disappears and I can't feel any of it any more. For a moment, I let myself believe that he has left me alone, but then I hear the jangle of his buckle and the zip of his flies. His laughter, his terrible laughter, ringing in my ears and crawling down my spine, and then, a moment later his hand as he begins to claw at the hem of my jeans.<br>"Gagghh!" I cry, scrunching my eyes shut in my unbearable terror, helpless and pitiful against him. Blood pounds in my ears, and everything becomes muffled and blurry. The weight and squeezing becomes too intense, turning the corners of my vision darker and darker with every moment.  
>"Ha!" Joe leers at my father. "Right over here! What the hell're you gonna do now <em>sport<em>?"  
>I can feel it all. His hands, his breath, his weight, the road digging into my skin, the cut up slices on my hands stretching and ripping even more as I claw at the monster. I kick my legs out as hard as I can manage, but it's useless.<br>Then, almost without noticing at all, I hear the sound of ripping flesh, squelching as it is torn from its source. And then the gargles. I strain my eyes to stay open and my stomach and heart almost completely fall out of my throat as I see what has happened.  
>I watch, as thick, pulsating blood pours from Joe's open jugular as he slowly drops to the floor. I see Dad grimace as he spits out the skin and artery and wind pipe of the dying man, and then as he turns to face us.<br>I can't tell if the monster on me has let go, or if I have just gone numb with shock and horror.  
>I hear another gunshot, and the man who was holding Michonne slumps to the road with a bullet hole through his throat. The noise snaps me from my catatonic stupor and I try to move my arms, finding that I can. But as I attempt to pull myself to stand, the man grabs me around the shoulders and wrenches me from the floor. Rendered too weak to fight, I just try to keep from falling. My body convulsing with my heaving breath, my legs fighting not to go limp under me as he holds me up, pressing the cold, sharp knife to my throat.<br>Another gunshot. And then I see Michonne aim the guilty gun at the man keeping me hostage, her eyes wide and terrified.  
>"I'll kill 'im!" he roars in my ear, and the darkness grows further into my vision. "I-I-I'll KILL 'IM!"<br>"Let the boy go!" Michonne orders, but the man's grip around me only tightens and I can feel him shaking with fear.  
>My legs buckle underneath me, and the pressure around my chest and neck forces me to focus completely on breathing. But then, when I am sure that he will slit my throat open, and my anger and overwhelming exhaustion threatens to explode out of me and throw me from existence, I see my father march towards me and the man, nothing but rage and murder in his eyes... the same eyes that I have inherited.<br>"He's mine," is all Dad has to say for the man to drop me from his grasp.  
>I fall to my knees, gasping and retching as his knife clatters to the floor next to me. I force my eyes to stay open, scared that I will black out as I hear the first beg from the monster. And then Michonne engulfs me in her arms, trying to hide my face from what I already know is happening... but I want to see. So I do, and I keep watching as my father drives his knife through the man's abdomen... gutting him. I watch as his entrails spill out of his sick anatomy and splatter to the road at Dad's feet. The man grips uselessly onto Dad's arms, screaming until he can't anymore, until he is just silently begging Dad to stop, or maybe just to kill him already and spare him from his agony. But Dad isn't so kind... and I am glad... I want to help him do it.<br>So the monster dies slowly, in pure agony and terror, just like he deserves.  
>I force my eyes to close, not wanting to admit my sick reconciliation towards what my father is doing. I hear the 'shuck... shuck... shuck...' of the stolen blade as it is driven through the man's body, over and over again even though he has been dead for a long time. But my eyes open of their own accord, giving into the temptation. And for a long time I watch, glaring blankly as my father mutilates the man's corps. And then, when the new monster finally wakes up from his death and tries to stand and grab his first taste of human flesh, I watch Dad; his blood soaked lips curling into a growl as he lunges at the shredded walker, finally putting an end to his existence with a merciless slash through his skull, so strong that the top half of the walker's head rockets off and rolls across the road.<br>Everything is distant. And I remain numb and catatonic as I am taken back to the truck and splayed across the seats, resting my head on Michonne's lap. I stare into nothing, eventually focussing my eyes on the toe nail shaped moon out of the window, until I can't even see that anymore when Daryl covers the glass with the clothes from the scattered luggage that was behind the truck.  
>I must fall asleep, how, I don't understand. But eventually, without wanting to, I drift away from all of it, falling back into my imaginary reality where there are no walkers or death or hurt or murderers.<p>

**Notes**

3 chapters to go!

Happy reading xx :_)_


	30. Chapter 30 T E R M I N U S

**Carl's POV**  
><em><br>Oliver is here, just like he said he would be._  
><em>I sit with him for a long time, neither of us saying anything or even looking at each other. We watch the motionless, soundless world from The Prison courtyard, squinting from the sun as we glare through the walker-free metal mesh fence, feeling the gravel under us digging into our knees and palms.<em>  
><em>Until finally I can't take the silence anymore. "From what?" I ask Oliver bitterly, turning to narrow my eyes at him. "What were you rescuing me from?"<em>  
><em>I can feel my breath hitching as I watch Oliver turn to me, his expression sad and sympathetic, "Huh?" he asks.<em>  
>"<em>What were you rescuing me from, before?" I repeat, not even trying to hide my irritation at his obvious reluctance to tell me.<em>  
><em>Oliver purses his lips, swallowing before finally answering me.<em>

"_. . . Yourself."_

_I stare at him, glaring as everything that I have just had to go through threatens to explode out of my chest. But I swallow the grenade from my throat. "This... this isn't wh-what-" my voice fails on me as I try to speak through gritted teeth and Oliver's eyes shift between both of mine, watching me closely as I try to compose myself. "This isn't what I wanted... I didn't want to turn into this!" I get out, my voice unintentionally rising as my anger builds in my throat. But I can't hold it in anymore. "I don't... I...!" My expression tenses and I double over in my rage. "I DON'T WANT TO BE A MONSTER!"_  
><em>Instantly, Oliver pulls me toward him into a bear hug and without giving my own body permission to do so, I cling to him, wrapping my arms around his middle and wailing into his shoulder. He holds me, burying his face into the crook of my neck and rubbing circles into my spine, waiting patiently for me to calm myself and look at him again.<em>  
>"<em>What happened to you?" I plead desperately through my heaving sobs. "Oliver, what happened...? You escaped. Please? What happened to you?"<em>  
><em>He doesn't answer me... because he can't. How can he?<em>  
><em>I pull away, scrunching my knees up to my chest and glaring into the wearing denim. "You're not even real," I mutter to him, trying hard not to explode. A moment passes in which I eventually trust myself enough not to, but as I move to look at him again, the bitterness and guilt shoots up my spine and I uncontrollably lose myself in the intensity, and it drives me mad. "YOU'RE NOT HERE!"<em>  
><em>Oliver stays silent, not even reacting to my screams.<em>  
><em>I want to lunge at him. I want to hit him to make him talk to me. But I just keep screaming. "FUCK YOU! YOU'RE NOT EVEN HERE! YOU'RE GONE! YOU'RE NOT REAL...! YOU'RE NOT! FUCKING! REAL! LEAVE...! LEAVE ME ALONE! FUCK OFF! FUCK...! OFF!" I bellow at him, my rage erupting from my being as I double over, forcibly pushing him away with my arm.<em>  
><em>He stumbles backwards onto his ass, almost rolling over onto his front as my violence throws him off balance. But then as he turns to look at me, hurt and betrayal bleeding across his face and making me almost sick with guilt... he does as I ask. And without any warning at all, Oliver completely disappears in front of my eyes.<em>  
><em>He doesn't dissolve, or fade or blink away... he just, disappears... gone... right before my eyes.<em>  
><em>I stare wide eyed at where he was, almost glad that he has gone. But as the moments pass in silence with only my laboured breathing cutting through it, my guilt and remorse creep into my mind, desperately willing him to come back to me.<em>  
>"<em>O-Oliver?" my voice cracks and my brow arches in regret. "Oliver," I repeat, searching around me for him.<em>  
><em>I clamber to my feet, shaking as I spin on the spot in the middle of the courtyard and clapping my hands to my mouth. "OLIVER!" I scream, feeling my panic rise as beads of sweat roll down my forehead.<em>  
><em>But he doesn't return.<em>  
>"<em>Don't leave me?" I mutter, stumbling against the wall of The Prison building that I had forgotten was there. I press my palms to my eyes, forcing myself not to cry as I bury the heels of my hand into my face. "Please? Don't leave me?"<em>  
><em>I slap my palms against the brick wall behind me, panting and heaving with guilt. Tears roll from my eyes and I grimace as I wipe them away, enraged and cursing myself for losing Oliver again and feeling my dread eat away at me.<em>  
><em>But then I hear the moans and hisses and I swivel my head around to look.<em>  
><em>My stomach drops and terrible adrenaline surges through me as I watch the fences begin to cave in from the weight of the walkers against it. They weren't there before! And they are all clustering in that one space opposite me, desperate and hungry for my flesh.<em>  
><em>I pull myself from the wall, breath hitching and heart thumping as I back away, staring wild eyed as the wire mesh begins to snap and bend further in. The first walker stumbles over the barbed wire at the top of the fence, snagging itself on it as it falls and then crushing it's skull between the secondary fence, and for a moment I feel relief, letting myself think that they wont get through that one too.<em>  
><em>But I am wrong, like I so often am it seems.<em>  
><em>The second fence snaps and crumbles under the weight, and quicker than I can count, the walkers pour over it and into the courtyard after me.<em>  
><em>Though these aren't just walkers.<em>  
><em>There everyone I have ever met... ever cared for... ever feared... and ever hated.<em>  
><em>I spin on my heel, engulfed by terror as I run. Everyone chases me... Everyone... Joe and his Claimers, Dad, Michonne, Daryl, Merle, Shane, Glenn, Maggie, Beth, Zach, Hershel, Sasha, Tyreese, Bob, Karen, David, Mika, Lizzie, Molly, Luke, T-Dog, Jacqui, Ed, Sophia, Carol, Jim, Amy, Andrea, Morgan, The Morales' family, Uncle Jeffrey, Judith my old teacher, Otis, all of Hershel's family, Patrick, even the kid I gunned down, and even Tyler, clutching his carton of soy milk in his rotting hand, even Andrew, Oscar and Axel and all the other prisoners, and The governor and his original and second militia, and Mom is here, too, growling with her torn open baby bump as she ambles for me with everyone else... and Judith, though I lose sight of my un-dead little sister as she is mindlessly trampled under the walking corpses.<em>  
><em>So I keep running, grabbing my gun and taking down as many of them as I can, blocking out my terror and panic as I switch my mind off, instinctively putting a bullet through Hershel's eyes, and then Daryl's, Patrick's, then Maggie's, Zach's, Molly's, even Sophia's and Tyler's.<em>  
><em>I keep shooting, until I run out of ammo and I throw the useless weapon to the gravel as I run, not even hearing it scrape across the floor over the deafening growls of them all. I rocket around C-Block... but I didn't see him before I could do anything about it. So I run smack, right into him, gasping in terror as my eyes meet his once brown with golden flecks, but are now glazed over and empty and dead.<em>

_Oliver._

"_NO!" I scream at him._  
><em>Overcome with terror and guilt and despair, I don't even try to stop him as he lunges for my throat, burying his teeth into my jugular. The pain. It's unimaginable. I hear the terrible sound of tearing flesh, identical to the noise I heard from Joe only hours ago, and I am still alive and helpless and terrified as everyone else joins in on Oliver's feast. Screaming from the agony until my throat tares and closes on itself, and everything only goes black when there are too many corpses surrounding me to see anything, and then finally, I fade away from it all.<em>

I wake up, panicking and paralysed on the back seats of the truck. Almost relieved when I realise that it was only a nightmare. But then the events of last night reacquaint themselves with my memory and my stomach drops, making me sink into Michonne's lap and keep my eyes closed, not wanting to awaken yet and dreading the moment that I have to step out of the vehicle and truly embrace reality. So I stay still, pretending to sleep and waiting for my heart rate to settle.  
>I feel Michonne gently brush my hair out of my closed eyes, comforting me as she must think that I'm still dreaming.<br>"I didn't know what they were," Daryl's raspy Southern drawl from outside breaks the short quiet.  
>Unwilling to summon any emotion and blocking any that try to weasel their way into my mind, I listen blankly to his conversation with my father.<br>"How'd you wind up with 'em?"  
>"I was with Beth," Daryl answers solemnly, and I do well to stop my breath from hitching as I find out that someone else survived The Attack, too. "We got out together... I was with 'er for a while."<br>"Is she dead?" Dad asks.  
>"She's jus' gone," Daryl replies. <em>'Gone'... just like Oliver...<em> "After that. That's when they found me. I mean, I knew they were bad, but... they had a code. It was simple. Was stupid. But it was some'in'... It was enough."  
>"Hey, you were alone," Dad reassures him.<br>"They said they were lookin' for some guy an' his kid. Said the kid's trail went cold right at the beginnin'... that, he was a dead man anyways an' it wern't worth goin' after 'im... I didn't know they were talking 'bout-..." Daryl doesn't finish, and my brow fights not to furrow as the first sign of that all too familiar aching sorrow returns, burrowing through my rib cage and making itself at home in my heart. "They'd been trackin' the other guy since it all happened, well, las' night they said they 'spotted 'im," Daryl says, "I was hangin' back, I was gonna leave. But, I stayed... That's when I saw it was you three – right when you saw me... I didn't know... what they could do."  
>"It's not on you, Daryl... Hey... it's not on you," Dad says. "You bein' back with us, here, now... tha's everything." He pauses a long moment before finishing, his voice deep and serious and truthful. "You're my brother."<br>A long time passes and I stay still as Michonne continues to stroke my forehead. I resist the urge to wince as her fingers graze too close to the scrape on my cheek, but still unwilling to let her know that I am awake yet I stay quiet, dealing with my own sorrow alone.  
>"Hey, what you did last night... anybody woulda done 'at," Daryl says finally.<br>"No, not that," Dad counteracts him... and I can't help but believe him.  
>"Somethin' happened... that ain't you," Daryl tries, doing his best to put his disagreement into words.<br>"Daryl, you saw what I did to Tyreese," Dad says. I remember the bruises on both Dad's and Tyreese's face the day after I noticed my dad's mashed up hand. He never told me what had happened, but I had figured it out eventually because it wasn't too hard to put two and two together. "It ain't all of it, but, that's me... that's why I'm here now, that's why Carl is."  
>I listen to the silence for a moment, blocking out the sorrow and regret that is trying to gnaw its way into me.<br>"I owe his life to Oliver... I owe all our lives to him," Dad says and my heart suddenly pounds in my chest. My ears reeling as they focus entirely on his words, hanging off of them. "He sacrificed himself for us, an' I can never forgive myself for that." There is a long pause in which I try with everything I have not to let my tears escape. "Jus' before... everythin' happened... Oliver... he told me to keep 'im safe. Told me to keep my boy safe... I knew then... that, there was somethin' else... somethin' deeper... so... I am gonna do right by him. I owe it to Oliver, an' to my boy. I'm gonna keep 'im safe... That's all that matter's."  
>I don't know when my eyes had opened, all I know is that now I can see the inside of the truck as I stare ahead of me in a haze, blinking away the brightness of the morning sun trying to shine through the covered windows. My mind spins, confused by to what extent my father really understands what mine and Oliver's friendship was together, and whether he meant it any more than that at all, and if he did, why he had never said anything about it to me before.<br>My chest aches with my sadness and frustration, and I try to lose myself into nothingness, escaping into my imagination to find Oliver again. But I feel Michonne lean forward to look down at me, finally noticing my consciousness.  
>I look up at her, pursing my lips and wiping a tear as it escapes the corner of my eye. I hold her eye contact for a long time, waiting for her to try to console me in some way, but she doesn't say anything and I am glad, so I sit up and quickly wipe the tear away before she sees it.<br>For a long time we just sit in silence, losing ourselves in our thoughts. Until I can't bear it any longer so I finally climb out of of the truck and march around it, searching for the bodies that were littered here from last night. But there gone. I sigh in irritation, then go around the truck to see if the dead men are there instead, but I stop in my tracks as I see the dried crimson soaked into my father's face as he sits beside Daryl on the road against the side of the truck.  
>He stares at me for a long, intense moment, as if he is waiting for me to scream in horror and run away. But his appearance doesn't scare me nearly as much as I think he thought it would. In fact, I hardly blink an eye at him.<br>"Where're their bodies?" I ask and my voice cracks a little, hurting slightly as this is the first thing I have said since the suffocating cries from last night.  
>Dad looks taken back by my question. His swollen mouth opens and closes as he tries to answer me, but fails. So Daryl answers me instead, "I moved 'em outa the way. You didn't needa see any more than ya already did," he tells me.<br>I fight the urge to narrow my eyes at him, offended that he thinks that seeing those dead and gutted bastards would effect me any more than everything else I have seen already. But instead of voicing my irritation, I ask another question, "What did you do with their weapons?"  
>Daryl hesitates a moment, furrowing his cut brow before finally gesturing his knuckles towards the front of the truck. "Took everything useful an' put it over there – go ahead an' load up if you find the ammo you need," he says gruffly.<br>Ignoring my father's concerned and confused glance, I look around and see the small mound of belongings that the men have 'kindly' left for us. I nod in thanks to The Dixon, silently pursing my lips into a small smile to show my appreciation and gladness for his reunion with us. And then, I turn on my heel and march straight for the weapons, though I'm not looking for more ammo like Daryl thinks...  
>I am looking for something to tell me if Oliver is still alive.<br>I rifle through the pistols and machine guns and supply bags and porn magazines. Beginning to get frustrated as I still don't find anything that could be of any kind of clue to my missing boyfriend's fate or whereabouts, but then, just under the fancy-looking custom bow and bright green array of bolts, I spot it.  
>I freeze, staring down at the blood stained blade, knowing that it is Oliver's machete from the doodles of super heroes and cartoons that I had drawn on the handle less than a week ago.<p>

It was in the suburb house the day Michonne arrived. It was before the run with the walker-baby and the grapes, before he told me he loved me, before I asked him to be my boyfriend. Just in those few quiet hours of the morning while we had just settled a little after Michonne had found us. I was bored, and Oliver was out on the porch speaking to Michonne about something that I wasn't particularly interested in, and Dad was passed out again on that damned couch in the living room; exhausted after the emotional exertion that greeting Michonne had caused him.  
>I saw the blue marker on the bedside table and didn't even try to look for paper. So I just grabbed Oliver's machete and went to work on it, drawing whatever came to my mind on the handle, through, refraining from drawing a few things that I was mature enough not to be tempted by.<br>When he saw what I had done to the red handle that now was littered with wet, blue ink as he came back into the bedroom to look for me, he wasn't happy at all. "Oh, come on, Man!" he groaned, grabbing the machete from my hands and glaring at the doodles.  
>I was sprawled across the bed at the time, still with the pen between my fingers as I was in the process of finishing a doodle of The Riddler's question mark symbol.<br>He opened his palm and glanced at his skin, and his eyes suddenly rolled in annoyance. "Dammit. The ink's come of on my palm, Carl," he grumbled in dismay.  
>I stayed quiet, knowing that I should've apologised, but too stubborn to do so.<br>Though Oliver knew this and he smirked at me as he placed his machete on the end of the bed in front of me. "You're such a jerk, Man," he said in jest, kneeling beside me as I sat up and tried not to grin at him.  
>"Sorry," I said finally, though not really meaning it.<br>But then Oliver leant in, and instinctively I did too, having not kissed him since a day before when that walker almost tore my foot off, and not knowing if it was alright to kiss him again so soon as I had no idea how all of that stuff between us worked yet. Though, Oliver didn't intend to kiss me anyway, as his behaviour was just a distraction while he lifted his hand and smeared the still wet ink from his fingers over my cheek.  
>I pulled away in disgust and embarrassment, groaning as I tried to wipe the blue from my skin. "You ass," I grumbled at him, trying not to think about my burning cheeks.<br>Oliver was satisfied with my reaction. "Pay back," he chuckled and at the time I didn't appreciate his laughter as much as I do now.  
>I was wearing my gun in its holster at the time. Oliver reached over and pulled my colt from its place, bobbing it in his hands for a moment before glancing at me. "Can you show me how to load it up?" he asked.<br>"I thought Carol taught you in 'Story Time'," I said, mocking him a little because I am the worlds greatest grudge holder.  
>"She did," Oliver said solemnly, maturely ignoring my pettiness. "But I'm better with rifles - only tried it with a pistol a few times."<br>So I showed Oliver how to disassemble and reassemble the gun, and then how to reload and change the safety, until Michonne called us downstairs to go over the game plan for the run she was organising.

I want to go back to that moment. I want to hold him and tell him how much I miss and love him. But I can't, so I stand up, clutching the machete in my hand and forcing myself not to break apart. When I turn around, I jolt to a stop when I see my father watching me.  
>"What?" I snap, suddenly feeling a little foolish for walking off with Oliver's machete still in my hands.<br>Dad almost winces from my tone, so I relax my face a little, attempting to ease my tense demeanour. "Carl," Dad begins, struggling to continue while he swallows the blood that must still be stuck in his throat. "Are you alright?"  
>I nod, shifting my gaze between the two concerned men and seeing Daryl look me up and down as his eyes linger on the weapon in my hands. "I-I... I was jus'... I needed to know, if, uh, if they took it," I get out, trying to pretend that my previous behaviour is of no real importance to me, not because I am ashamed or embarrassed by my concern and worry for Oliver, but because I don't want to have to talk about it right now.<br>"Why?" Dad asks.  
>I glare at him, wanting to shout at him for such a stupid question. But I hold my tongue and shrug. But he keeps staring at me, waiting for me to tell him with words instead of just a shrug. I grit my teeth, feeling my irritation expand in my chest. "Why what?" I ask, keeping my voice level.<br>"Why do you need to know if they took Oliver's machete?"  
><em>Proof. Reassurance. Evidence. Closure. Faith...<em>  
>"I jus' do," I say slowly, thinking that this is all I want to say. But then, without meaning to, I keep talking. "I thought, if I found something, I'd know. But, it didn't help, s-so I... I don't know any more than I already knew before... Jus' that they took his machete, too..." I wince as I say the last part, trying not to think about whatelse those bastards took from Oliver... And again, I think I am done talking, but my mouth moves of its own accord. "M-maybe... maybe he got out. Maybe he didn't die. He's good at that, he's done it before; those five months without Patrick, an' when The Governor took him an' the others... so, maybe he found somewhere - stayed there on his own while he healed or somethin'. He could have found the tracks, too. He could be behind us... looking for us. I wa-"<br>"Carl," Dad interrupts me.  
>I stop breathing for a moment, feeling so tense and rigid that I am shaking slightly. Dad opens his mouth to continue but I speak before he gets the words out, my sentence leaving me without my impulse control being able to hold it back.<p>

"Dad, I think Oliver is alive."

I do well to keep my manner calm and nonchalant, not wanting to show the remorse and guilt and sorrow I really feel. So I keep staring at him, waiting for him to respond but already knowing what he will say.  
>"Carl, I-"<br>"I know," I interrupt him. "I know, you... h-heard... it all." I shake my head in denial. "But Dad... he mighta gotten out. You ran, remember? You ran, after 'Lou', that guy you killed, turned and attacked the rest of 'em. What if they all went to kill the walker? What if... somehow... Oliver escaped?"  
>Dad grinds his jaw uncomfortably, using a wet cloth to try to wipe a little more of Joe's blood from his face. "I don't know the answer to that," he admits finally. "I don't think I ever will. An', I'm sorry, Carl... but I don't think you ever will either. Oliver is <em>gone<em>... You. Need. To accept that."  
>I glare at him for a long time as the rock weighs down my throat, heavier and heavier, though, instead of sadness, it is only the anger and familiar contempt that builds, creeping up my spine until I begin shaking with it.<br>"You know what, Dad?" I hiss, my bitterness erupting from my body without me being able to stop it. I can feel the words. They rise up my spine and crawl over the back of my neck. For a moment I try hard not to say them. But I explode.

"Go _FUCK_ yourself!"

I see his eyes widen and his mouth grimace into a snarl, but before he has a chance to give me what I am sure would be the scolding of my life, I throw Oliver's machete onto the pile of weapons beside me with a loud clatter and then storm in the opposite direction up the road.  
>I want to run into the tree line and never come back. I want to scream at the top of my lungs until my throat rips apart. But I know enough not to let myself run, being too starved and weak to do so. And I know not to go too far away, knowing that I'd only get lost and end up killing myself anyway. And I know to stay silent, because those walkers we got away from yesterday could easily still be near by. So what I do instead of all that is move out of my father's eye line a few hundred yards away from the truck, staying silent as I slump to the floor. I bury my face into my bent knees, biting the denim of my jeans until I don't want to scream anymore.<br>A while passes, until I have to move again because my mouth and knees are aching. So I stand up, tensing and grinding my jaw and wincing when my teeth hurt from the pressure. My jeans have teeth marks dented in them so I rub them away as best I can before making my way back over to everyone.  
>Dad ignores me, completely. And I try to ignore the nagging guilt that itches in the back of my head. We all collect as much of the useful supplies as possible. We have no food, and neither did the men from last night. So I try to ignore my stomach growling as I sling my two supply bags over my shoulder.<br>With one last check around the truck, we get going. I hang back, avoiding any potential social situations that my previous outburst might have sparked up between any of them. I will apologise to Dad, eventually. But right now all I care about is finding out what happened to Oliver.  
>I know Oliver though, better than anyone - better than I know myself sometimes. And I know that if he saw the signs to Terminus somehow, he'd follow them. But I also know that he'd be afraid of what he'd find when he reached the end of the tracks. If I wasn't there or the place was overrun. To him it would confirm mine and everyone else's death... But I will be there. I will be waiting for him when he gets there... it's all we have left.<br>I keep walking along the tracks, weighing out the scenarios in my head.  
>Maybe he's already there? Maybe in those three days Dad, Michonne and I took out of our journey to go around the tunnel, he went straight through? Maybe he got ahead of us?<br>Without meaning to, my pace quickens and I almost overtake Daryl before I realise what I am doing and I slow down again, avoiding the glances that The Red Neck gives me.  
>"You alright kid?" he asks a moment later.<br>I nod yes, keeping my eyes on the floor.  
>He pauses for a moment, but I can see him out of my peripheral vision still watching me. So I look at him, trying not to let my irritation show.<br>"Look, I know you're mad at 'im," Daryl begins, pursing his lips as he pauses to think. "But you can't be too hard on your dad. He's doin' his best. What happened las' night – no man should have to go through that, no one should have to go through any of that."  
>I try not to wince as he speaks, but my face tenses uncontrollably as the flashbacks of that monster reel over my mind. So I look away, hiding my face under my hat.<br>"Look, that ain't happenin' to ya again," Daryl says, "not as long as I'm around. Not as long your Dad an' Michonne are."  
>I don't respond.<br>"You don' have to be afraid o' him," Daryl says.  
>I glare at Daryl, really glare, silently putting an end to our conversation and we keep walking in silence.<br>I'm not afraid of my dad. I wanted to help him. I wanted to gut that man myself. All of them. They deserved everything and more of what they got. If only I was stronger. If only I was fast enough to grab my gun and put a bullet through that monster's skull. No, I wish I could have done it slowly. I wish I could have watched his life drain out of him like Dad got to. I wish i'd- _Stop!_  
>I shake my head and look away from Daryl. Realising that I'm shaking. So enraged that I am afraid I will scream or explode. I'm the bad guy. It's not just those men from last night. It's me. I'm turning into a monster.<br>I keep walking, blocking out any thoughts. Refusing to think about Oliver or those men or my lack of humanity. Just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other on the train tracks, hearing the _thump,_ _thump, thump_ as my heels absorb the shock when I take each step.  
><em>Don't think,<em> I tell myself. _Don't feel... don't become a monster... don't lose yourself._  
>After a few miles Dad diverges from the train tracks, spotting another Terminus sign on the floor almost completely buried under leaves and debris. He kicks the foliage off of the cardboard sign and reads it.<br>"We're getting' close. We'll be there before sundown," Daryl says as he reads too.  
>"Now we head through the woods," Dad says, gesturing into the tree line. "We don't know who they are."<br>I crane my head to read that we are only about two miles away from the end of the tracks, and butterflies tangle the inside of my gut. I take a deep breath and exchange a glance with Michonne.  
>"Alright," Daryl says, heading into the woods as we all follow him.<br>We all follow after him for a few miles. Staying silent, listening carefully and watching for any movement. So close now that the anticipation is almost killing me.  
>Dad suddenly holds up his hand, motioning to the mesh fence ahead. We all grip our weapons tightly and edge closer to the perimeter of the property. My heart pounds in my throat as we peer through the metal fence.<br>I see a large brick building with the words " " written in bold black writing over one side of the train station. A clean court yard out front, with growing, fresh vegetable gardens and even sunflowers pointlessly growing from the soil. Benches and wash bowls with plates and cutlery still inside. But no people... I see a long train track, just outside of the fence on the far side.

This, is finally Terminus.

**Notes**

Lots of dreams lately. Sorry if it is getting annoying :/ X

Also, I didn't know how I felt about Carl's little outburst to Rick, but I just wanted to put something else in that didn't happen in the episode that was because of Oliver, sorry if it was unrealistic, but meh, oh well! XD x

Hope ya'll enjoyed! Please leave a little review on your way out to tell me of your thoughts :)

Happy reading xx :_)_

THEY'RE BACK TOGETHER IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! AHHH!


	31. Chapter 31 I Love You, Too

**Oliver's POV  
><strong>  
>Six Days. We've been walking along these tracks for six days now. It rained for the first two and a half days. The second day we found a tunnel and we had to go around it. There was no way we were going to risk Judith's life like that, but we got back to the track the next day thanks to Carol's flawless map reading, so that went alright. Then the fifth day, yesterday, we found a stream and were able to wash up a little. We've seen too many Terminus signs to count. I was still trying to count them though, right up until around the fortieth. But I lost count after that. We are close, though. I know we are. We're closer than close... we're almost there.<br>"We're close," Carol says, as if she can read my mind.  
>I look up to her from Judith, who has been propped on my hip for the last twenty miles or so. Her travel sack got too wet from the relentless rain and I have been leaving it empty on my back to dry. The last thing we need for Judith is for her to get sick from mould. Mould can cause asthma, and I don't want Judith to be burdened with it like I have had to. "Yep. Just a few more miles," I say, letting the corner of my lips curve slightly as I look to the track floor, darting my eyes up and down to each wooden beam that I walk over out of habit. It's all I seem to be doing these past six days, like an obsessive compulsion. But if it distracts me from everything else then I'm fine with it.<br>"I'm gonna get the three of you there," Carol says gently, "make sure you're safe."  
>I glance at her, faint alarms ringing in my mind at the way she had said it. Tyreese comes to a halt as he reads another sign perched on the track in front of us, dismissing Carol a little. He hasn't spoken much to her... not since she told us what she did.<br>Carol notices my concerned gaze and purses her lips at me. "But I'm not gonna stay," she finishes.  
>I frown at her. But her eyes linger on Tyreese so I look at him beside me. He purses his lips at her, silently accepting her wishes in a way that I never could. I frown at him, too.<br>He glances at me for a short moment, ignoring my expression before turning and continuing to walk along the tracks. I exchange a glance with Carol, waiting for her to explain to me. But she dips her head to avoid my gaze.**_What? They're just going to accept that._**_ Tyreese is going to just let her go? _**_He can't! She can't! And not to mention that I won't!_**  
>I open my mouth to tell them this, darting forward to grab Tyreese's arm and talk some sense into the man, but that's when we hear the groaning and the twigs snapping under lazy footsteps.<br>"Walker," I alarm quietly as I see the single, rotten culprit, clutching Judith to my chest protectively.  
>Carol looks to Tyreese for him to sort it out for us, since it's only the one walker and I am holding Judith.<br>But he shakes his head in refusal, his brow arching. "I can't," he admits, and my heart aches at how much he sounded like Mika. "Not yet."  
>Carol even looks at him the same way she did the dead child; sympathetically disappointed, and I know she is experiencing the same painful déjà vu as I am. "You're gonna have to be able to," she mutters as she parts away from us and quickly drives her knife through the walker's torn skull.<br>She lingers on the track for a moment, knelt on the ground and losing herself in her thoughts. But then something catches her attention and it catches mine too as I see the lazy figures of the dead strolling toward the tree line.  
>"More," Carol hisses at us as she brings herself from the tracks and rushes over.<br>We rush from the train tracks together. Tyreese grabs the last two supply bags we have left and hands one to Carol, and we scramble into the opposite tree line. I hold Judith close to me as I flatten myself into the dirt with Carol and Tyreese to my left. We peer over the small mound of brush in front of us, wide eyed and hearts pounding as we watch the herd amble closer. **_Shit!_**_ Oh god, they're coming right for us!_  
>Suddenly... gunfire. Lots of it. So loud and so close that the walkers forget the meal that they think they just saw scrambling off the track and turn around to make for the noise instead. I cover Judith's ears. I'm not really sure how much difference it'll make but I'm pretty sure that noise this loud isn't good for her, though I guess she's heard worse.<br>Finally, the herd leave. I sigh with relief and lift myself and Judith from the ground, and when I glance down at her I almost scoff at the sight of her falling asleep on me. **_But... all that gunfire..._**_ I bet it's like a damn lullaby to her._**_That's not funny, Oliver._**_ I know... but it's probably true._  
>"That gunfire," Tyreese says as we all step back onto the train track, "coulda been from Terminus."<br>I take a look around us, still worried that there may be more walkers. But I see nothing other than train track, trees, the dead walker Carol took out and the Terminus sign from before.  
>"Someone was attacking them," Carol queries. "Or they were attacking someone."<br>"Do we even wanna find out?" Tyreese takes the words from my mouth.  
>Carol turns to us and nods. "Yeah," she answered, panting slightly. "There's another track due East. It'll get us there."<br>I can feel my expression harden in concern and Carol holds my gaze. "We'll be real careful," she tells me, nodding surely and patting my shoulder before pulling away and looking to both Tyreese and I. "We're gonna get answers."  
>I shift my eyes between both of hers, pursing my lips and swallowing as I fight my ongoing conflict. But I nod and prop Judith higher on my chest. "Yes, Ma'am."<br>We keep walking, though instead of continuing along the tracks, we head east into the woods like Carol said, using a track to cut across the forestry to shorten our journey and along with it maybe try to see Terminus before they see us.  
>"Do you want me to take 'er?" Carol offers when she notices me wincing as I hoist Judith up on my hip again.<br>I glance at her with my brow raised. "I'm fine, Carol," I answer.  
>But she rolls her eyes and holds her arms out. "Oliver, you've been carrying Judy for almost two days, take a rest for a little while," she insists.<br>So I hand the baby over, curving my lips in subtle gratitude, because truthfully, my back is killing me. Judith is only about eight or nine months old so she is still pretty light, especially since there isn't all that much food, but it doesn't stop her from being so wriggly. She's a patient kid I'll give her that, but eventually, boredom takes its toll on her too, and so she wriggles and grabs at my beanie hat to pass the time, which puts a lot more strain on my back than I expected.

We keep walking for a little while. Hearing the all too familiar noise of the trees and birds again. Silent, but not silent at all. But it begins to break apart when I become aware of faint screeching and pipping noises. It sounds like a radio or something, crumbling through the natural noise. It snaps our heads around to where we hear it from. But we don't see anything and it sounded far away. But then we hear the voices; faint, but real and alive.  
>So we follow them, edging further into the woods as the talking becomes clearer. I see the old shack through the trees, and then the run down, blue car next to it. But my breath catches when I see a man in the baseball cap and a rifle slung over his shoulder.<br>The three of us stop in our tracks and watch him for a moment, hidden in the tree line and hoping that he won't hear our racking hearts.  
>The stranger peers into the boot of the car, reaching into it and grabbing out a sack of what I realise is fireworks. He shuts the trunk and tosses the bag on the floor behind him, then grabs out a loaded yellow firework nozzle and places it on the ground.<br>"_Ten minute count_," I hear on what turns out is his walkie talkie. "_You screw up, you're on your own, Martin._"  
>The stranger, 'Martin', fishes the walkie out of his pocket and brings it to his mouth, "You don't have to tell me. I wipe my own ass," he retorts through the device.<br>I exchange a glance with Carol, silently asking her if she thinks he is from Terminus, and if so, or if not, wondering what it is that we will do about him out of the two options we have; avoid or dare to approach. But she doesn't give me any silent response, so we look back to the man as he goes back to the sack and kneels down to it to rifle through for another firework.  
>"Alex didn't get it. You see, I knew the chick with the sword was bad news. Bitch looked like a weapon with a weapon," he says.<br>My stomach drops, knowing exactly who he is insulting and talking about.  
>"<em>He was always a sloppy-ass Mother-<em>**_*ccrrk*_**," the woman responds in jest.  
>But then Martin speaks some more, "Yeah, I told Albert I wanted the kid's hat after they bleed him ou-"<br>But before I even realise I am moving, and before Martin finishes his sentence, I find myself stood like a statue right behind him, with my glock pressed to the back of his skull and my finger hovering only millimetres over the trigger. My head reels and my gut feels like cement, weighing down on me and threatening to make my knees knock. But this is new, this is primal, pure unpredictable instinct. And it overpowers me.  
>"Drop it and shut the fuck up," I seethe through gritted teeth, hearing the woman speak on the radio again but too pumped with adrenaline and fury to understand her.<br>Martin does as I say, dropping the walkie talkie and holding his hands up in reactive submission. "Listen," he says calmly, chewing the gum in his mouth, "ya'll don't have to do this. What ever you want. We've got a place where everyone's welcome."  
>"Shut up, Man," Tyreese warns next to me, and without hesitating I jab the barrel of my gun further into Martin's skull, causing him to flinch from the force.<br>"Okay," Martin complies, faking his confidence and it makes my blood boil.  
>"We're friends with the chick with the sword an' the kid in the hat," Carol explains bitterly.<br>That shut the dick up.  
>My mid reels, throbbing worse than when it did while I was still injured.<p>

_**Carl's alive...? He's alive, Oliver!**_

I am too overwhelmed to respond to myself. Paralysed. Trapped in a stupor or shock and despair and relief.  
>"Oliver, drop the gun," Carol's voice snaps me out of my daze and I do as she says, only just noticing that Tyreese has already bound Martin's hands with a seatbelt he must have ripped out of the car.<br>My eyes widen as I look at her, suddenly shaking all over as I pull my beanie off and strangle it in my glock-less hand. "Carol, h-he's alive," I mutter frantically, hearing as Tyreese lifts the tied Martin from the ground and makes him walk into the shack. My breathing heaves as I double over, too overwhelmed to think straight as my beanie drops to the floor at my feet.  
>But Carol shakes my shoulder with her Judith-less hand. "Oliver, I need you right now," she barks at me. "Okay? You need to focus. We're gonna get him... we're gonna get all of them. But you need to be with me on this."<br>I stare at her, nodding without hesitating. "Yeah. I'm fine. I got this," I mutter as I holster my gun, swallowing to get my voice to be a little clearer. "I-I'm with you. I'm alright."  
>"Good," Carol says, handing Judith over to me. "Because I'm gonna need you. Now more than ever. No matter what. Are you gonna do that, Oliver?"<br>I stare at her for a long time, knowing what she is implying... but for what I am doing it for... who I am doing it for... there's no question. "Tell me what I have to do." I say.  
>Carol purses her lips in gratitude, but she doesn't reply. Instead she motions me to follow her into the shack. So I go with her, burying my terror and relief and outrage at what Martin said... <strong><em>Before they bleed him out... Oliver, they're going to k-<em>**_ No...! I-I know. Stop. He's fine. He'll be fine. We can do this. _**_What the hell is 'this' though? You saw Carol. She doesn't have a plan!_**_ Shut up. We will. Trust her. Trust me. We can do this._

"They attacked us. We're jus' holdin' them," Martin lies. I know that he is from Terminus now, he told us when Carol put her pistol to his forehead. And now, any hopes of it being a sanctuary for us has diminished entirely. _**There is no sanctuary... it's all been a lie.**_  
>I shoot him a glare as I hand Judith over to Tyreese, and Martin narrows his eyes at me.<br>"I don't believe you," Carol mutters as she sorts through the sack of fireworks, slinging her rifle over her shoulder.  
>"Who else do you have?" Tyreese asks. "Do you know their names?"<br>Martin shrugs and shakes his head. "We jus' have The Boy an' The Samurai. That's it. We were jus' protectin' ourselves!"  
>"I don't believe you," Carol repeats, sterner and colder. She glances over her shoulder to me, "go take down that rag from the wall," she instructs me.<br>"There's a bunch of us out there, in six different directions. There's a lot o' gunfire back home," Martin tries as I pull the raggedy blanket from the wall and go back over to Carol. "We need to set up our charges all at the same time to confuse the dead ones with. That's good for you, too!"  
>"No it isn't," Carol interjects, examining the rag I took. "There's a herd heading toward Terminus right now. We don't wanna confuse them away... We're gonna need there help."<br>I furrow my brow in confusion at Carol, but she ignores my befuddlement and places the rag back into my arms before slinging the sack over her shoulder.  
>"It's a compound," Martin warns. "They'll see you comin' - if you even make it that far with all the cold bodies headin' over."<br>But Carol and I don't take note of his suggestion and we turn to leave, one person on my mind who clouds over my fear.  
>"Carol," Tyreese stops her, balancing Judith on his arm as he stares at us, "how you gonna do this?" he whispers.<br>Carol takes a moment to answer, but when she does I am not nearly as fazed by her answer as I would have been a few minutes ago.

"We're gonna kill people."

When she turns and walks away, she doesn't have to make sure that I'm still willing to do this with her. She knows I will, and I do. So we go, leaving Tyreese and Judith with Martin in the shack in the middle of the woods.

"Help me with this," Carol instructs, motioning to the walker she had put down earlier.  
>I help hoist the rotting corps off of the track and into the cover of the trees, until finally we drop it on a flat enough part of ground. Carol kneels beside it and glances up to me, holding her arm out to me to join her. I kneel beside her, furrowing my brow at the walker and then looking at the woman again.<br>"What are we doing, Carol?" I urge, resisting my grimace as the stench of the walker fills my nose. "What's your plan?"  
>Her eyes shift between both of mine in worry, pursing her lips before answering. "You're not gonna like this. But-"<br>"Carol," I interrupt her, "I'm with you. No matter what, okay?"  
>She lets a small smile of gratitude tug at her lips, somewhat empathetic, but it's enough for both of us. "Okay, get your rag an' cut a slit in the middle of it," she tells me. I do as she says, using Lizzie's knife to cut a line into the middle of the large rag, trying hard not to think about the little girl who owned the blade before me. "Put it on... That's it."<br>I think I know what she's getting at here as she begins pulling on the other blanket that she had gotten, too. But I don't protest. I sheath my knife and look back to the walker, tensing my jaw in hidden disgust. _I can do this. I can do this._  
>Carol slices the walker through the stomach and its entrails ooze out of it like a black river, dribbling lumps of decomposing internal organs onto the leaves and soil under it. And then Carol sticks her hand in, before smearing the rotting bowels over herself.<br>**_Oh jeeze..._**_ I can do this. I can do this._  
>She glances at me expectantly, and I suddenly become aware that my mouth is hanging open in unintentional appal. But I shake my head clear before she has to tell me to and then repeat her actions, grabbing a handful each of walker guts and feeling the cold, wet bowls soak into my skin.<br>_I can do this._  
>I do hesitate as I hold the guts in front of me though, and for a moment I have to inwardly scream at my limbs to make them move again, but I manage, and I spread the gunk over the rag I am wearing on top of my clothes, repeating this repulsive action over and over again, too many times.<br>But then Carol smears it over her face and neck.

_**NOPE...! NOPE...!**_ _**NO WAY! No... fucking... way are you doing that!**_

I ignore my inner hysteria and plaster the back sludge over my face, mimicking Carol without questioning her. I feel it smear and soak into my hair and skin, and the stench violates my nose, making me feel like I am drowning in it...That's when the gagging begins, and I finally lose to the fight against my pitiful stomach.  
>I throw up into the earth, emptying myself of the last canned peaches we had.<br>"Better out than in," Carol says gently as she rubs circles into my convulsing back, cleverly using the opportunity to spread more of the rotten intestines over me at the same time. _**Ohhh... jeeze. Oh, Man...**_  
>I groan in repulse, slowly leaning up again and spitting the last of the vomit out of my mouth, before wiping my lips as best I can on the small, clean patch on the back of my wrist. Carol doesn't say anything else to me, knowing there is nothing she can say. Not about this. She just watches me patiently as I recompose myself, and I do; regaining as much of my dignity as I can in such a stomach churning circumstance.<br>"Carol?" I croak, wincing from the burning in the back of my throat.  
>She nods, dropping her hand from my back and wiping the last bits of intestines over her own blanket.<br>"Are you really gonna leave us? W-when we get to Terminus."  
>Carol stares at me for a long time. So long that I can see the innards drying in her grey hair, turning it a muddy orange colour. "Yes, Oliver," she answers finally. "I am."<br>I hold her gaze for a long time, silently begging her to change her decision. But when The Humble Peletier has made up her mind, I have come to learn that it is practically impossible to change it. So without another word, I continue smearing myself with the walker guts, and then Carol does too. I am not accepting her choice though. I could never do that. When we sort ourselves out; rescue the others and find them again -because I know that we will... we have to- I will think of something to get her to stay. I'm not losing anyone else. Even if it means giving up my own life in the process.  
>Finally, when we are completely coated, we stand and make our way towards Terminus. I know why we did all that. Carl told me once about when his father and Glenn had to do the same thing to escape Atlanta. The smell will mask us from any walkers we run into, making us invisible to them. And I think we're going to need that invisibility by the size of the herd that is on its way to Terminus.<p>

I spot the metal mesh fence ahead, and then the walker that has impaled itself on the wooden spike that sticks out of a crate just beside it. We walk past it, and for a moment I wait for the walker to try and grab for us. But the suits do their job and it doesn't even bat a rotten eyelid our way.  
>"Put your backs to the walls at either end of the car!" Carol and I hear in the distance as we climb the bank towards the fence. "NOW!"<br>Then we hear a loud bank and fizz, but it doesn't sound like a bullet or anything I've ever heard before.  
>I exchange a confused glance with Carol and we edge to the fence, crouching as we search around us for any of the potential people that Martin was speaking about that might have seen us on our journey over. But it seems clear out here, so we peer through the fence.<br>I see Terminus, for the first time. It's a train station that has been built into a place to live. My eyes scan over the bol letters on the side of the building, and then to the outdoor cafeteria where I see people stood at the fences taking out walkers.  
>But then, to the far right of the property where a big, red train freight is situated near the edge of the compound... I see them... Rick. Daryl. Glenn. Bob. I gasp in shock as I watch them get thrown to the gravel with gags in their mouths and both their feet and hands bound. <strong><em>They're alive! It wasn't just Michonne and Carl! Oh god... Where is he? Oliver, where is he?!<em>** I search for any sign of Carl, feeling my panic rise when he, nor anyone else I recognise is any where in sight.  
>Carol places her hand on my forearm and I startle as I snap my head around to look at her. "W-where... where is h-"<br>"Oliver," Carol urges desperately. "Don't lose focus. I need you. Oliver, we gotta do this."  
>I force my breathing to calm as I nod to her and she nods back, before pulling me to follow her a little way along the fence to our left, away from Rick and the group as they are dragged into the building.<br>"Why don't we shoot the Termites now?" I protest calmly, burying my terror. "They're just over there."  
>"We won't stand a chance, there's too many of 'em," Carol answers reasonably. "We need to take 'em by surprise. We'll go to the front, pick off the people takin' out the walkers an' then work our way in with 'em."<br>We get to the part of the fence opposite the front of Terminus and Carol sets down the supply bag and prepares her rifle. I watch as she aims it at one of the people at the fence, aiming to shoot. But I spot the boiler tank beside them...  
>I tap her arm and point to it.<br>"Good," is all she whispers as she aims her rifle at it instead.  
>I wait for the bullet to fire, for the explosion to go off. But I only hear someone scream. The Termites are frantic all of a sudden, yelling and bawling as they back away from the front gates. But then I see what has terrified them so much as I watch an army of dead advance on the train station. My heart pounds as I watch them amble closer, but I notice Carol fumbling with the supply bags and watch as she grabs a firework and slides the thin, stick end of it into the barrel of her rifle before propping it against the fence so that the yellow rocket sticks through.<br>"Oliver, the tank. Shoot it."  
>I grab my glock and take aim. I have had a lot of time to practice over the days since The Grove; taking out more squirrels and hare and pheasants than I can count, but I still doubt Carol's judgement in trusting me to make a shot so far away, but I don't make my worry obvious, so I take a deep breath, brace for the kick back and pull the trigger.<p>

**PKOW.  
><strong>  
>I see the spark as the bullet bounces off the metal, hitting its target but not doing any damage. I glance at Carol, but she keeps staring at the boiler tank, waiting for me to try again. Almost looking like she is willing the tank to explode just from the power of her mind. So I take aim again, inhaling, then exhaling, bracing for the kick back and lastly pulling the trigger.<p>

**PSSSSSSSSS!**

Steam erupts from the hole the bullet shot into it and walkers draw to the noise and movement like magnets.  
>"Cover your ears!" Carol commands, grabbing me and pulling me to take cover behind the metal beam in front of us. I hear the fizzing of the firework that she had just lit from the end of her rifle. I hear the screech as it shoots off. So I do as she says and instantly clasp my hands to my ears, double over as Carol grips my shoulders.<p>

**BOOOM!**

The force of the explosion knocks me off balance and rumbles the earth beneath my knees. But it does its job and I watch as the flames throw the walkers and rubble and bits of fence into the air like they are floating on a bubble of fire and smoke, releasing a shock wave that flattens any other walkers nearby. Not deadly enough it seems though, because the walkers stand up again, growling and agitated as the flames begin to eat them up. But we want them to keep moving, because now they pour into Terminus through the blown out hole in the fence. **_Fuck! So much for 'taking them by surprise'..._**_ What are you talking about? This is surprise enough!_  
>I look at Carol as she watches the cloud of dark smoke rise into the sky. I tap her arm. "Now?" I ask her breathlessly.<br>She nods, hopping up from the floor and slinging her rifles over her shoulders and grabbing the supply bag. We climb over the fence. I go first, sitting at the top to hoist Carol up and then both of us jumping down the bank together.  
>"Act dead," Carol mutters to me, making her body rigid and stiff to mimic how a walker moves.<br>I follow her lead, stiffening my posture and slowing my pace. Walking with the walkers. And it's working. So we keep going, ambling out of the way of any wandering walkers and doing our best to pretend to be part of the herd. We go through the fence, down the driveway, past the blazing flames and deeper into Terminus territory.  
>I grip my glock tighter than I ever have before, my adrenaline and stiffness proving to be useful to add to the walker illusion I am putting up. We walk past The Terminus people as they are dragged to the ground and devoured, and I try to ignore the terrible screaming that they let out as they are torn from limb to limb.<br>I suddenly flinch as bullets fire, feeling one wizz right past my ear and a walker behind me that was on fire drops to the floor like a rock with a black, oozing hole through its skull, the flames licking its way around its rotten body. _**Shit! We'll get hit!**_  
>Carol pulls me to take cover by a doorway. I spot the man ahead by the building opposite us, picking off as many walkers as he can. I take aim, knowing that if I don't he will kill us. So I block out my terror... and then pull the trigger that ends his life. I watch as his head pops backwards and my bullet travels right through his brain, and he slumps to the floor. My second kill. I only freeze for a millisecond, but I force my emotions to stay away from me as I take aim at the second man on top of the building. But the gunshot doesn't come from my glock, and the man doesn't collapse to the floor from my bullet through his brain. I look to my right and see that Carol took him out for me.<br>I nod to her in gratitude, swallowing the rock in my throat.  
>But our disturbance has drawn the attention of the walkers. A few turn on their heel and growl as they make for us.<br>"There!" I urge, grabbing at the door handle to our right and pushing it open, almost gasping with relief when I find it unlocked. Carol and I rush into it, slamming the door behind us and panting with our backs against it for a moment.  
>We enter a hallway; grey, long and cold from the dim light and lack of sun. Carol stops at the door at the end of it, slowly and silently edging it open. "Clear," she breaths a sigh of relief and swings the door open wide.<br>I wince as the light pours into the long hallway from the room and follow her inside, closing the door behind us. My eyes fall upon tables against almost every wall, piled with odd objects like clothes, weapons, teddy bears and countless other children's toys... then I see the hats, and I rifle through them, searching frantically for the faded gold coloured dangles and the thick, brown rim of his sheriff's hat. But it's not here. I grit my teeth, not sure whether that is a good thing or not and ignoring my dread as I examine the other objects to occupy my mind.  
>My eyes trail over the jewellery, bracelets, necklaces, rings, watches... but one in particular catches my sights, and my eyes linger on it without meaning to. I almost don't recognise it at first, but I examine the shiny ridges of the straps and the scratched glass face of the Rolex watch...but then I see the seconds hand that ticks but doesn't move...and the familiarity of it finally slaps me across the face.<br>My breath hitches and my heart pounds as I step over to it, snatching it from the table. "Carol, it's Rick's," I whisper over my shoulder, quickly looking back to the other items to see if I recognise any of them. But before I get a good look, alarms ring in my mind at Carol's silence. I turn around, still grasping the heavy Rolex in my left hand. Carol has her back to me, staring down at something. "What is-?" But I realise before I finish my question, I wouldn't miss it from a mile off. I'd recognise it anywhere...  
>Daryl's crossbow.<br>Carol turns to me, worry flooding her expression as she presents the deadly object to me, now seeming eerily small and useless without The Respected Redneck slinging it over his shoulder. Carol purses her lips at it, about to tell me something. But she notices the watch still held in my hand and reaches forward, gently taking it from my palm.  
>"It's Rick's," Carol tells me what I had already figured out.<br>I nod, removing me eyes from the crossbow and looking at her. "How did it get here? He didn't have it when we got out. He had another watch with a broken strap," I tell her.  
>Carol nods, almost smiling. But such a facial expression is hard to summon in this worrying environment. "Yes," she mutters, pocketing Rick's watch that I managed to read 5:10 PM on. "It was Ed's. I gave it to Rick on the run I never came back from, after he gave his watch to a man and his girlfriend. Man's name was Sam, can't remember the girl's name. But we never got the watch back, Sam's girlfriend was dead when we went back for 'em, an' Sam was gone."<br>"He must of found his way here, too," I reply, hoping that he might still be alive as well but doubting it too much to voice my thoughts.  
>Carol pulls the crossbow over her shoulder, throwing her chin to her right to gesture me to follow her. I nod and follow her out of the room and further into Terminus.<br>Finally as we get deeper into the train station, passing through empty rooms and more corridors as we hear more gunfire and screaming from outside, we step into another room. Only, it's not empty in here. It's full of belongings. Candles are dotted all around, littering the floor and stands and hanging from the walls. There is writing all over the floor, like a memorial or something. A shrine. Belongings of the dead and the gone.  
>I search for something I recognise as we pass through, aiming for the door with a big, bold "A" on the side of it and seeing the shadows of walkers flickering in the gap at the bottom of the door, but I only read names of people I have never heard of before and it only seems to feed my worry.<br>But my lack of focus causes me to miss the quiet closing of the door behind us, and the footsteps a little way away. But I hear the click of a gun, and the stranger's panicked and exhausted voice thundering through the quiet.

"Drop your weapons and turn around!"

We freeze, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end in my sudden adrenaline rush. I glance at Carol stiffly, but she doesn't look back.  
>"I wanna see your face," the stranger growls, her voice panicky and breathless. "NOW!"<br>I almost startle at her bellow, but we do as she says. I crouch down and drop my glock, pulling out my knife and dropping that, too. Carol slides Daryl's crossbow off her shoulder and then begins pulling off her rifle, letting both me and the stranger think she is about to drop it, too. But before I know what has happened, Carol suddenly swings around and shoots wildly at the woman.  
>I flinch, reflexively covering my ears from the noise as the woman falls to the floor and her gun slides across the cement, knocking into a few candles. Carol sprints for her and the woman leaps up and attacks her, pinning her to the floor into a violent wrestling match. But I have already grabbed my gun.<br>"STOP!" I bellow, aiming at the stranger's skull as she raises a long, thick candle holder, ready to slam it into Carol's face.  
>She freezes, swinging around and staring wildly at me, knowing that she has lost. Carol shoves the lady off of her and aims her gun at her face, edging to stand beside me.<br>The woman heaves a sigh, exhausted and visibly aching as she rolls her head back to stare at the ceiling. "The signs," she begins, looking back to us through her roughed up, brown hair, "they were real. It was a sanctuary," she says, pausing as she draws in a deep, shaky breath and tears well in her eyes. "People came an' took this place-"  
>"Just tell us where the-" Carol interrupts, but the woman doesn't stop talking.<br>"-an' they raped. An' they killed," she continues, tears rolling down her cheeks. For a moment I almost feel sorry for her. But I block it out, hovering my finger over the trigger of my glock. "And they laughed. Over weeks!" the woman raises her voice, her expression intensifying in her rage and turmoil. The same turmoil that I try not to relate to. "But we got out! We fought it! We got it BACK! An' we heard the message! You're the butcher... or your the cattle." _**She's insane.**_  
>"The men they pulled from that train cart, where are they?" Carol orders.<br>I scan the room a little, searching for any clue as to where they might have been taken. But I just see the big, black writing on the wall behind the unhinged woman: "WE FIRST, ALWAYS."  
>The woman doesn't answer Carol. But I anticipate the shot as Carol puts a bullet through the woman's right thigh and I watch her collapse to the smooth floor, screaming in her agony.<br>"WHERE ARE THEY!" Carol orders again.  
>The woman looks at me, drawing in a loud breath in her pain and stifling her cry with pursed lips. "Now... point it... at my head," she gets out.<br>Carol doesn't move as she keeps her rifle trained at the stranger's stomach. But I move. I do as the woman asks and aim my glock right between her eyes. "Where... are they?" I growl, frustration and desperation clouding over my morality.  
>The woman begins sobbing and laughing and gasping at the same time. "You could have been one of us!" she pants loudly. "You could have listened to what the world is telling you!"<br>"You lead people here an' you take what they have an' you kill them? Is that what this place is?" Carol asks in disgust.  
>"No," the woman pants and shakes her head, cradling her shot leg in her hands as she lays, sprawled across the floor, "not at first. It's what it had to be... an' we're still here."<br>I feel my brow knit into a tight frown, disgusted and enraged by her answer. Carol lowers her gun, but my hold doesn't waver as I ready myself to pull the trigger, blocking out my conscience.  
>"You're not here," Carol says, stepping towards me, "an' neither are we."<br>I feel her hand on my forearm, snaking her fingers along my sleeve. I look at her, glaring in my frustration in still having no answer from the stranger. But Carol purses her lips and pulls me to follow her.  
>"Let's go, Oliver," she says gently.<br>I back away with her, grabbing Lizzie's knife from the floor and sheathing it, shifting my eyes between both women. I hear the fire escape door click as Carol pulls it open and I feel the sunlight shine through onto my covered spine, soaking through the damp walker guts coating the rag. The walkers stumble into the room and they amble right past me, ignoring us as if what Carol said was true; that we're not here. But they see the injured woman in the middle of the room.  
>"NO!" I hear her screams as I follow Carol out, both of us refusing to even look back at her as she is devoured alive.<br>We go out into a big courtyard-looking place, debris and walkers and old, run down cars with broken windows scattered around everywhere. We go across it, acting like walkers and for the first time in a while I realise that the gunfire has slowed to only a few shots a minute.  
>"Oliver," Carol mutters over the growls and moans and faint screaming, pointing ahead.<br>I follow her finger and see a big, red train car with another 'A' in big, bold, white writing on the side of it. We maintain our pace, ambling to the freight. It's open now and dead walkers litter the ground around it.  
>When we finally get there, I climb up into the freight. "Michonne?" I hiss, his name echoing off the metal walls and ringing in my ears. I see something in a small pile on the floor and pick it up. It's a hoodie; dark blue and the zipper is half torn off. It looks about his size... "Carl?"<br>But no answer. It's empty. So I drop the torn clothing back on the floor and go out to Carol, shaking my head. "Nothing," I mutter, trying to hide my dread.  
>Carol scans the area, "There's too many walkers, we gotta go," she tells me.<br>"But they might be inside the building somewhere," I protest, feeling my brow arch in fear and guilt.  
>"Oliver. There's too many. Look, they got out. We'll find 'em... I promise. But I'm not getting you killed. We have to go... now."<br>I search around us desperately, only seeing the walkers as they surround us, oblivious to our presence. But then I take note of the distinct path of dead walkers leaving the freight and making its way down the inner track. "Okay," I comply to Carol. "But we leave the same way they did," I offer, pointing the way the trail of dead walkers go.  
>Carol nods. "Alright, c'mon. Stay close."<br>We follow the trail of the dead and bludgeoned, their blood still oozing out of their caved in and shot up skulls. This all happened recently, possibly even just moments ago.  
>We get to the fence and my heart leaps to my throat as I see the thick rag on the top of the fence. I know it would have been used to climb over the barbed wire. Walkers pile over it, chasing the meal that must have only just gotten away. Hope radiates from my being as I now know that whoever was in the freight must have escaped.<br>But the walkers are too many and there is no way we are getting over the same way without climbing over their rotting corpses and getting noticed. "We have to go around," I tell Carol.  
>"Alright," she nods and nudges my arm to pull me past the horde of desperate walkers, "this way."<br>So we go around the compound, finding another part of the fence that looks sturdy enough. I grab a crate as slowly as I can and prop it against the fence.  
>"Put your rag over the barbs, but you gotta be quick. They'll smell you soon," Carol instructs.<br>I do as she says and quickly pull off my gut covered rag, throwing it to lay over the fence (walker guts facing down) and then I climb over it. There are walkers on this side too, but even though there are less I am still not happy staying here too long. "Give me your hand," I urge Carol, holding out my extremity and fighting the urge to cough as my lungs finally voice their protest to all the activity and stress.  
>She climbs over, taking my hand as I brace her fall. "Thanks," she mutters breathlessly, before hurrying to pull off her own blanket and throwing it on the floor.<br>Then we run. Fuelled by adrenaline and the will to see our friends again. Three walkers chase us, they're faster because I can see that they are Terminus residents who have only just turned. So Carol and I have to stop and take them out.  
>I target the closes one and kick it in the knees, letting it fall to the floor as I shove Lizzie's knife through its scull. Carol has taken out the second, but the third gets too close to her and knocks her over as it slams itself into her to grab at her flesh. But I leap forward and drive my knife through the back of its head, and it goes limp on top of her with its teeth mere centimetres away from her throat. I grab its shoulder and help Carol roll it off of her before taking her hand and pulling her to stand.<br>"You okay?" I ask breathlessly, ignoring my tightening wind pipe.  
>"Yeah," Carol nods, panting as she takes my shoulder and pulls me to move. "C'mon, we can't stop here."<br>So we keep running.

Finally, we come to a stop deep into the woods, now a comfortable distance enough away from anything that poses a threat.  
>"Take your inhaler," Carol tells me, panting as she leans forward with her head in her hands to catch her own breath.<br>I wheeze violently as I fish my inhaler out of my pocket, quickly taking a dose and leaning forward onto my knees to ease my breathing. I take a deep, relieved breath as the Ventolin does its job, before looking up to Carol and placing my hand on her shoulder. "We got away," I pant, "they got away... Carol, we did it."  
>Carol nods and smiles a little, "Yeah," she pants. The woman reaches into her supply bag and pulls out a bottle of water. "Here, try to wash some o' the muck off your face," she tells me.<br>I do as she says, cleaning the worst of the entrails from my face, hair and neck, before taking a swig to wash the lingering taste of vomit from my mouth.  
>Carol washes as much of the guts off of herself too, before drinking a little for herself. "Drink the rest an' we'll get goin'."<br>I finish the bottle, almost forgetting how thirsty I was until feel the cool liquid cover my dry tongue, so I swallow it in one gulp. And with that, we continue into the woods.

We walk for a little while, finding the recent tracks of the people we can only hope is our family. My heart racks against my chest and the tense silence lingering over the both of us continues as we focus entirely on listening. My skin tingles, and the hair on my neck and arms stand to attention... almost as if I can feel or sense them close by. Like I can sense _him_ close by. I can see that Carol is feeling the same hope and excitement as me and it only fuels my determination.  
>But then we hear the voices.<br>"The hell we still around here for?" someone questions, his voice deep and authoritative... another stranger, and my heart and stomach drop. _**Oh no, it's more Termites...**_

But then...

"Guns. Some supplies," another man answers. A man I could recognise anywhere from the Southern drawl and raspy tone as Rick Grimes. "We'll go along the fences... use the rifles. Take out the rest of 'em."  
>My breath hitches as Carol and I quicken our pace towards him, quietly marching through the woods and hanging off of every voice we hear.<br>"What?" someone questions him. It's Glenn! I know it is.  
>"They don't get to live," Rick responds, oblivious to how close we are as we hurry though the brush while they all continue to talk.<br>"The fences're down," I recognise Maggie's soft Southern accent. "They'll run or die."  
>But then we see them all and both Carol and I stop in our tracks, mesmerised and overpowered by relief at the sight of them all. Sasha, Bob, Glenn, Maggie, Rick and four people that I have never seen before... and then... <em><strong>There... he's there...<strong>_  
>It is the sheriffs' hat I see first. Then the brown hair. And then the red graze on his right cheek. Until finally my eyes meet the electric blue that scan over his father, unbeknownst to mine and Carol's presence. So vibrant that I almost wince when I see them.<p>

Carl.

Relief... joy... catatonic elation... it is like nothing that I have ever experienced before and it becomes me. I hit the wall, my exhaustion and fatigue engulfing me so powerfully that all that keeps me stood up is my rigid legs beneath me and my arms as I clutch to a thin tree trunk.  
>His bright and flawless eyes meet mine, almost startling when he finally notices mine and Carol's movement. My shoulders droop and my brow arches, feeling every ounce of relief erupt from every pore on my body.<br>I see his cerulean orbs widen and his mouth fall open. I hear his breath hitch horrifically and the sudden bashing of his feet as he sprints towards me. I hardly realise that I am moving, too. Adrenaline and desperation fuelling my exhausted body.  
>This is nothing like when I found Patrick again after those five months alone. I remember not knowing what I was doing as I ran for my big brother. Unlike now. Now I know exactly what I am doing as I sprint for the boy I love.<br>He leaps into my arms, crashing into me without any regard for who is around us. And we lose ourselves with each other's embrace, whimpering and mumbling into each other's necks in our overwhelming disbelief and rejoice.  
>Carl lifts me, shock and ecstasy proving to be enough to temporarily charge his muscles as I feel my hiking boots suddenly leave the earth for a moment, before he realises what he is doing and grounds me again. But I keep hold of him, and he keeps hold of me, and we cry as we embrace, tears of overwhelmed joy and despair and relief and longing pouring out of our souls and into each other's. Strengthening each other with our comfort to one another. Holding each other with all of the long overdue affection that has built up over the past week that we have cruelly spent apart, convinced that the other was dead, and letting them all come out now in this one moment... with each other... and to each other.<br>"You were gone," Carl whispers and cries at the same time into my neck, holding my middle tightly.  
>I sob into him as I hear his beautiful voice, instinctively tightening my grip around his shoulders and lacing my fingers under his sheriff's hat into his beloved, thick hair.<br>He almost collapses against me as he clutches around my ribs to stay stood up. "They said - th-those men, they-" He shakes his head against my collar bones before he can finish his whisper, chocked sobs escaping him instead of words until he finally finds his voice again. "Oliver, y-you were gone. You were gone."  
>"I'm here," I whisper into his ear to comfort him, making sure that he doesn't fall as I let him empty himself of everything he has been holding inside of him since we were separated, burying my face into the crook of his neck and unable to stop the tears that roll from my eyes and soak into his skin. "I'm here."<br>Finally we part, though keeping our arms around each other. Carl gazes at me through his tear filled eyes, his beautifully freckled cheeks glistening from his tears against the setting sun, making my heart swell and thump violently in my chest... and then he says it.

"I love you, too."

I embrace Carl, burying my face into his nape as we both begin sobbing hysterically again. He strokes my spine, hiccupping against my chest as he gently rocks both of us side to side. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he whispers over and over into my ear. "And I'm n-never letting you go again."  
>I feel his hand snake around the back of my neck and I lift my face from his collar bones, pressing my forehead to his and causing his hat to lift from its place slightly. My love for Carl engulfs me, feeling so filled with it all that I am sure it'll spill out of me and flood the entire woods.<br>I hear Carol's embrace with Daryl, their hitching breath and shuffling footsteps and I become aware of how many people are actually around us right now.  
>But Carl keeps gazing at me and my worry disappears. I soak in the rays of his electric orbs as if they are the sun itself, watching them shift between both of my eyes, shining and sparkling from his tears.<br>"Did you do that?" I hear Rick's hoarse voice ask beside me.  
>I look at him, detaching myself from his son but unable to bring myself any further than that away from him. Rick holds my gaze and my heart pounds violently against my rib cage. <strong><em>Well, I guess this is one way for him to find out...<em>**_ Y-yeah..._  
>Worry creeps up my spine and churns my gut. But then I feel Carl's hand slide into mine, tangling his fingers into my own. I tense up, staring at Rick as his expression remains unreadable, other than the utter shock and disbelief on it from coming across Carol and I out here in the first place, as we are probably the last two people on earth he thought he'd ever see again, especially like this.<br>I finally nod in response to Rick's previous question, glancing to Carol for her input. She purses her lips into an overwhelmed smile as she nods too, tears brimming in her eyes. For a moment I remember that Rick exiled Carol the last time he saw her, and my heart drops at the thought of him not accepting her back after everything that she has just done...  
>But Rick embraces her, holding her in a close embrace by her shoulder and the back of her head. I feel Carl gently squeeze my hand in his, silently reassuring me, to which I instinctively run my thumb over the back of his warming skin, noticing the scabbing cuts littering his knuckles and palms. I am about to lift his hand and look at the injuries, instinctively wanting nothing other than Carl to be everything other than hurt. But before I move, Rick pulls away and turns to us both, his brow arching as he takes in our hands entwined together.<br>But then, he envelopes his arms around my shoulders and hugs me, too. A moment passed in which I am unsure of what I should do, but eventually I lift my hands and hug him back, closing my eyes as my gratitude and happiness threaten to explode from everything within me.  
>"Thank you," Rick chokes a sob, patting me on the shoulder. But I know that he is thanking me for a lot more than what Carol and I did at Terminus.<br>He pulls away, smiling and crying with his brow arched even more than a moment ago. He steps over to the satchel he was digging at a moment ago and pulls it from the dirt before unzipping it, wiping his tears again before pulling out an object that I recognise instantly as my machete in its sheath.  
>I choke a sob as he walks back over to me and hands it over, and I clutch the mass of leather and thumb at the familiar red handle littered with Carl's faded doodles, almost sobbing a laugh at the memory of catching the bored teenager drawing them that morning.<br>I nod to Rick, wiping my tear soaked face. "Thank you," I get out, my heart exploding with my happiness.  
>"You have to come with us," Carol tells him.<br>I glance at Carl as I pull on my sheath and adjust the strap to fit me again, before holding my hand out to him a little and his fingers are weaved between mine again within moments, making me feel more at home than I have in a long time.  
>Carol leads the way back to the shack a few minutes away, and I keep hold of Carl's hand the whole way, walking so that our sides press and brush together comfortably, both of us so glad and so happy to be back with each other that words aren't even needed right now.<br>I spot the shack and motion to it with my chin. Carl looks to it too and a smile tugs at his prefect lips, though he doesn't know what I am so ecstatic about. _**He's going to see his sister. They'll finally be a family again.**_ My excitement must be obvious because The Teenage Grimes furrows his brow at me, confused and delighted by my expression.  
>I am about to answer his unasked question, but I'm cut short by a closing door. Our heads dart around to look and my heart leaps to my throat, threatening to run away with itself as my eyes see the tiny, white fleece and the fair, unharmed skin of Judith held protectively in Tyreese's arms.<br>Carl's hand leaves mine and I grin madly as I watch him and Rick and Sasha race to their family.  
>Rick holds his daughter, and Carl cradles her spine and head, breathing her name in his joy and overwhelming elation. The Williams Siblings embrace each other, hugging so tightly that I'd be afraid they would break each other if I didn't know them like I do.<br>Carl breaks away from his family and cries as he takes my hand, gently pulling me into a quick hug before walking us over to them. Rick takes his son's shoulder, gently holding both of his children in his arms as his expression contorts with his disbelief and joy. He places his hand on my shoulder, too. His brow arched as he fights the emotion from his expression. "Thank you," he sobs again, tears streaming down his face and soaking into his beard.  
>I nod, feeling my heart throb in my chest and my chin shake as my emotions get the better of me as well. I hear Carl chuckle a sob as he pulls me to him into a bear hug, letting me rest my forehead in the crook of his neck until I settle enough to summon my voice.<br>"I'm so glad you're okay," I whisper to him, with more truth than I know what to do with. "I'm so glad all of you are."

**Notes**

Meep. Ah, after so long. Ah. I'm done here. See you tomorrow and very, merry Christmas. X

Happy reading xx :_)_


	32. Chapter 32 No Sanctuary

**I Love Fanfics **Yeah, chapter 27 was pretty dismal haha, poor Samuel sisters :,) Thank you very much, that means so much to me! And I will try my best to keep it up! xxx

**inazumahunter **Wow, than you for spending so much time on it! Gosh, it still amazes me that people are willing to read it so much in such short time! Thank you! ANd yes, hasn't it? I have loved writing it, it's almost like Oliver is just an old friend now. Gotta love how writing can do that for someone haha, and yeah. It's been very important that Oliver fits with the story realistically. Glad it has paid off xxMore will be coming x

**eli-XD-O **From the start, man. Thanks for supporting me this long! Means the world! Thank you for letting the story grow. The first ten or so chapters were awful, I'm glad you stuck through it all haha LOVE YA!

**Carl's POV**

We introduce Oliver, Carol and Tyreese to Tara, Eugene, Rosita and Abraham. I can tell that Abraham still wants to go to D.C. He, Rosita and Eugene had some time to explain their mission while we were in the train freight. I didn't understand most of it. Mr. Porter used words twice and the muddled sentences and strange terms he used were too unfamiliar to my mind for me to get much out of it. But Abraham and Rosita are sure about still going, and Sasha and Maggie seemed convinced, too.  
>But I'm not really focusing too much on that right now. We can worry about it later. Right now? Well, my main priority in this moment is holding my little sister and staying close by Oliver's side as we sit on the car bonnet together. We haven't said much to each other, but we don't need to, not yet. I think right now it's just about having a little time to just be in each other's presence for a little while. Not in a dream or in our imagination or fantasy... but really here, together.<br>Oliver glances at me,his eyes tracing around my facial features for a short moment. "I'll be back in a sec," he says almost apologetically, slowly sliding off of the bonnet.  
>I almost protest, but push my worry to the back of my head and nod, watching him turn and go over to Carol and Tyreese. I prop my little sister higher on my hip, pressing my lips to the top of her head and closing my eyes as I inhale her familiar baby scent. I open my eyes just as Michonne steps over and coos to Judith, stroking her chin and grinning at her. "She's grown so much, huh?" she tells me.<br>I smile and nod, still subconsciously focusing on Oliver and unable to ease my protectiveness over him as I keep him in my peripheral vision as he greets Sasha, almost worried that if he goes too far then I will lose him again.  
>"He's safe," Michonne says, slicing through my thoughts like the katana that was stolen from her. "You don't need to worry 'bout him right now."<br>I look at her, almost embarrassed for being so obvious. But I nod and purse my lips in silent response, though neither agreeing or disagreeing with her. I can't fight the nagging dread in the back of my head that fears for what Oliver has been through over the last week. Those men... I was in a bad shape after it all went down with them last night. But they were stopped... they were killed. But when Oliver was with them he was alone... he had no rescuer... no help... I can see the scars. The one I knew was there on his temple where the Governor attacked him those two weeks ago. But there's a second... one that I haven't seen before stretching its thin, subtle, pink line over the right side of his lower lip. I can see the long-since-dried blood stains on his clothes. I can see the pain and suffering in his familiar eyes. I need to know what has happened to him, how hurt he had gotten and how he escaped and everything else that he has been through since. But I can't ask now. I know that.  
>So I stay sat on the car bonnet, distracting my worry by playing and cooing to my little sister.<p>

**Oliver's POV**

Carol and I examine the dead corpses scattered around the shack, their dark, rotten blood and entrails soaking into the gritty ground.  
>"What happened?" Carol asks Tyreese as he finishes speaking to his sister.<br>I haven't had much time to greet Sasha, what with her catching up with her brother. So I take now as my opportunity, catching her just before she goes to the others. We wrap our arms around each other for a shot moment and when she pulls away she pats my shoulder and smiles at me, to which I smile back at her, not needing words to show our happiness to see each other again.  
>"There were a bunch o' walkers out here an'..." Tyreese begins to Carol, glancing at me also as I join their conversation, "he got his hands around Judith's neck."<br>"The hell?" passes my lips on a vicious hiss. Adrenaline and anger rushes through me and my expression tenses, instinctively turning around to march into the shack to confront the bastard. But Tyreese takes my arm, using his other to stop Carol too as she has had the same outraged reaction as me.  
>"No," he mutters gently. "He's dead... I-I had to. So I did... I could," he whispers to us, shifting his eyes between Carol and I. And I relate to the guilt riddled morality he must be dealing with. I think we all can now.<br>Carol nods to him, stepping away in acceptance. I relax and purse my lips, holding his gaze for a moment to reassure him. Tyreese did good. And by the looks of it, these walkers were killed by his hand as well. I sometimes don't give enough credit for how well he can take care of himself and the people he cares about.  
>He nods, motioning me to go back to Carl and Judith. I turn from the man and walk back over to the two young Grimes'. Michonne is here as well now and she steps over to me and envelopes her arms around my neck into a bear hug. "It's so good to see you again," she says, squeezing me even tighter.<br>"You too," I smile as I bury my face in her dreadlocks and wrap my arms around her middle, my whole mind still buzzing with ecstasy at reuniting with everyone here. When we pull away, I grin as I see the discoloured, white, oversized shirt she is still wearing. "You kept it?" I ask incredulously, letting out a chuckle as my heart swells in my chest.  
>Michonne sneers a quiet laugh, "Of course I did," she says softly. "It's comfortable."<br>I chuckle at her, dipping my head as I feel my cheeks heat up in embarrassment for picking the oversized shirt in the first place. **_I don't think she minds though._** _Nah, me neither._ And with one gentle squeeze on her forearm, I part from her and sit beside Carl on the bonnet.  
>I catch his glance, and I tilt my head to silently ask him to tell me what is on his mind. To my surprise, his brow arches a little and he pushes his lips into a smile, as if he has suddenly decided not to tell me what he was really thinking. "I guess you lost it then?" he asks, and for a split moment I wonder if that was really what he wanted to say in the first place. But then I get to thinking about his question.<br>I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, my heart rate picking up in worry. "Lost what?" I ask him. **_My sanity._** **_My_** **_humanity._** **_My_** **_morality._** **_My love for you..._**  
>"Your beanie," Carl elaborates.<br>I almost burst out laughing with relief. But instead my hands shoot up to my uncovered head, raking my hands through my hair as I try to think. "Oh," I sigh, dipping and shaking my head in amusement, half wanting to mock his upset for the damned hat and the other half because I am genuinely worried about its whereabouts. "I had it when I got here," I say. _Where did I put it?_ **_Good riddance. Finally you got rid of_** **_the rag!_** _Shut up!I think I took it off just after I confronted Martin._ **_I_** **_bet_** **_it's buried under those Termites back at-_**  
>But I spot the grey fabric on the ground a little way up the driveway, grinning madly as I slip off the bonnet and stroll over to it, taking it from the dirt and thumbing the beloved fabric. <strong><em>Fine.<em>** Ignoring myself, I smack the worst of the dust off on my thigh as I go and join Carl on the bonnet again, sliding the hat over my head and getting that sense of familiar comfort as it spreads over my body like it always has done when I put it on.  
>Carl glances at me, a close-mouthed smile pulling at his chapped lips. Then he leans closer, so that no one over hears his next few words other than Judith and I. "Pretty sexy," he whispers to me, repeating what I had said to him all those weeks back at The Prison. <strong><em>Uh, maybe you should have covered Judith's ears...<em>**  
>I scoff, taking his free hand and gently squeezing it between both of mine. "Thanks a million," I joke sarcastically.<br>He smiles, pleased by my reaction and takes a moment to witness it, before scratching at his eyes with his other hand, carefully making sure Judith doesn't fall from his lap as he keeps the higher end of his arm around her. He could just let go of me and hold her that way, but I don't think he's particularly willing to let go of either of us right now. Which I am fine with. **_Well, I think you're a little more than just_** **_'fine'_** **_with it..._** _I know. You don't have to tell me._  
>Carl keeps scratching and rubbing, and I furrow my brow. "What's up with your eyes?" I ask him.<br>He removes his hand, blinking away stars and wiping the tears. But he's not upset. The whites of his eyes are suddenly blood-shot and sore, and the skin around them is swollen slightly and coloured red and raw from his rubbing. Upon seeing this, my eyes widen in worry for him, and immediately my hand lifts to gently dab the skin under his left eye with the cool pad of my forefinger.  
>"Tear gas," Carl answers me happily, seemingly undeterred by his irritated skin. "They dropped a cartridge in the train freight so that they could take Dad, Glenn, Daryl an' Bob."<br>I remember the bang and fizz, now only just realising that that was what must have happened. "I saw," I confess, dipping my head and feeling guilty even though I know it isn't my fault. "They took your Dad and the others into the building. Then Carol and I blew up the gas tank. The explosion broke the fence and that was what let all the walkers in."  
>Carl's brow rises, impressed by my destructive activities throughout the earlier day. "Whoa," he says in light amusement. But after a moment he rubs at his eyes again.<br>I pull his hands away from his face to stop him. "Don't scratch at them, you'll only make the reaction worse," I tell him gently. "Does it hurt?"  
>"Nah," Carl shrugs and shakes his head, "just itches like a bi-"<br>Though, the young Grimes doesn't finish his sentence. Because that's when he catches the warning glance from his father as the man stands a few yards away, hearing his son about to cuss and silently advising him to rethink his sentence, which quietens the teenager without needing words.  
>I smirk into my lap, inwardly enjoying seeing the teenager getting mildly reprimanded. I recognise my amusement from when I would get Patrick into trouble when we were kids, and vice versa with him to me, though, the latter scenario was never as entertaining for me.<br>Carl narrows his eyes at me as he props Judith a little higher on his lap. "Shut up Oliver," he mutters in embarrassment, which only makes me grin wider, letting out a sneer as I do.  
>But then my eyes find the scratch on Carl's cheek again and I resist the urge to run my thumb over it. "What happened?" I ask, motioning to it instead. "And these..." I add, bobbing his cut up hands in mine, carefully as to not hurt them because they look recent; no more than half a day old.<br>Carl's expression suddenly stiffens and becomes uncomfortable, and I watch him almost recoil into the bonnet of the car, but he composes himself and holds my eye contact. My mind reels and my heart suddenly pounds as I remember what he cried to me back when we saw each other... _"__Those men" he said..._ **_Does he mean-?_** _No. No! No, no, no, no..._  
>"I don't know if the fire's still burnin'," Rick interrupts my train of thought and his voice is such a contrast that I almost startle from him, feeling my breathing quicken as my dread seeps back into my veins like venom. But I glance to what the man is looking at and spot the dark cloud of smoke rising from Terminus' graveyard. But by the black tint, I know that it is still burning...<br>"It is," Carol replies to Rick.  
>I don't look at her, feeling the lump in my throat and knowing that the woman is thinking of the small, innocent child who explained smoke shades to us the day before she died. <em>"<em>_The smoke's black._ _If it was white the fire wouldn't be burning_ _anymore,"_ Mika said, and I wince as her gentle voice floats through my mind like carnivorous butterflies. Beautiful yet agonising.  
>"Yeah," Rick replies to Carol, pocketing a small rag he was wiping his hands with. "We needa go."<br>"Yeah, but where?" Daryl asks.  
>"Somewhere far away from there," Rick answers him as he motions to the smoke; Terminus' graveyard, before turning and stepping to the Dixon.<br>Daryl squeezes Rick's arm as they exchange a silent agreement, and I take into note how their friendship seems to have strengthened since I last saw them together.  
>Carl and I slide off the bonnet. For a moment, I think I am about to drop Judith and I jolt as I try to catch the baby, but then I realise that I am not even holding her. "Oh, Man," I mumble incredulously to myself, chuckling in amusement of my own stupidity.<br>"What?" Carl questions, cocking a brow at my behaviour.  
>I glance at him and shake my head, smirking as I feel my cheeks heat up slightly. "I thought I was about to drop Judy. Been carrying her for this whole time... habit I guess," I reply as I grab Lizzie's- I mean, my, supply bag.<br>Carl lets out a short laugh, nudging me with his elbow and motioning us to walk with the others, "Glad to have you back, _Man_," he tells me.  
>I smirk as I gently stroke Judith's hair out of her forehead, lifting my gaze to smile softly at the beloved teenager. "Me too," I reply quietly.<br>I take one last glance around us, exchanging friendly glances with a few of my group as they begin to head off, but my gaze fixes on the run down, blue car that we were sat on. "Just a sec," I say quietly to Carl and Michonne. I quickly hop over to the vehicle, unsure whether Tyreese had time to search it for anything useful before we all got back, so curiosity gets the better of me and I lean into the open window, balancing my hips on the metal door and lifting a leg a little to lean further in without falling.  
>Upon seeing nothing on the seats, I pop open the glove box, also finding nothing. <strong><em>Tyreese must've already searched it.<em>** "Yeah," I agree with myself quietly, snapping my mouth shut once I remind myself that I don't talk to myself out loud anymore. On the road since The Grove, there hasn't been much talking. It was all about getting to Terminus and making sure Judith was okay. As a result, I had reverted to talking to myself a lot more, usually using Judith as an excuse to do it out loud because neither Carol or Tyreese seemed to think anything of it, or if they did they saw it as a nice distraction from the tension going on between us all anyway. But now that it isn't only us four, now with four more strangers also, I need to make an effort to reprimand that.  
>I am about to pull myself back out of the window and join the others, but something catches my eye in the cup holder below the dash board.<br>Cigarettes.  
>"<em>Marlboro<em>," I read the packaging as I grab the small, cardboard box, seeing a rather indignant photo of someone with an awful case of lung cancer on the cover.

I was born in North Dakota and lived there until I was about nine. My dad got a promotion and he needed to live nearer an airport to travel for his work. So he, Mom, me and Patrick moved down to Lorton in Virginia. It was right outside of Washington D.C. for the airport, so living there just made things easier for him. At the beginning of our move, in the first few weeks, Patrick was always mad at Dad for moving us. Back in North Dakota he had his friends and he liked school, and he always expected me to back him up on his dismayed opinion on moving to Lorton. But the truth was, I wanted to move. I had no friends and I hated my old school. Kids were mean. Even before they started ripping everyone's flesh off there were bullies. It was never too bad. I never came home crying or with bruises, I just suffered in silence and put up with the jokes made at my expense.  
>I remember back in North Dakota before we moved, Dad was a smoker, and <em>Marlboro<em> was the brand he smoked the most. Eventually, by the time I was about seven he managed to quit. But he always kept spare cigarette packets around the house, hidden in the strangest of places; under the bathroom sink, the hanging flower pot by the front door, behind the clock in our kitchen, inside the vents. But he never smoked them. They were merely there to comfort him, which in turn, successfully kept him from going back to the nasty habit. He didn't know that Patrick knew about his stash. He didn't know that I knew. I'm not sure if Mom knew, and if she did she was kind enough not to tell him off for them.  
>But one day, Patrick; the eight-year-old-terror-provider that he was, gave in to his temptation and stole a box. I remember the smug grin on his childhood face as he bust through our bedroom door (as we shared rooms back in North Dakota) and grabbed me from the floor while I was watching my Saturday morning cartoons. It was <em>SpongeBob SquarePants.<em>  
>"Dude! Come with me!" Patrick almost bellowed his whisper at me as he gripped my arm and dragged me from our bedroom. Dad was at work and Mom was making supper in the kitchen, but it didn't stop the idiot from crashing down the staircase like a rabid elephant.<br>"Hey!" I growled at him, and I remember trying to make my high pitched seven year old voice lower and more dominant. "Pat! What're you doing?"  
>But I was only Patrick's little brother, so of course, he didn't answer enjoyed leaving me out of his mischievous plans for a moment while he pulled me out of the house.<br>"Oliver, Patrick?"  
>We both screeched to a halt at our mother's call, spinning around on our heels to lean back into the front door. "Yeah, Mom?" my brother called back innocently, and I finally caught a glimpse of what he was hiding behind his back. A pack of Dad's hidden <em>Marlboro<em> cigarettes. My eyes widened, but I quickly straightened my face as Mom poked her head around the kitchen door to see us, her long, black hair swinging gracefully over her shoulders as she leant on the frame.  
>"Where are you going?" she asked, cocking a brow as her Italian accent naturally added gentle curiosity to her question.<br>I was about to step back into the house and admit defeat, but Patrick half slapped me in the stomach to get me to stay where I was, knocking the air from my lungs and I struggled to pretend that it didn't hurt, silently cursing him in my head the worst insults my immature mind could think of. But I knew he was up to no good, and I knew he was including me... I wasn't about to refuse and miss such an opportunity.  
>"To the park," he answered Mom, "I said I'd meet Jamie."<br>Mom cocked an eyebrow again, unconvinced, because 'Jamie' Patrick's friend, had never made any impression that he would want me to hang around with them, too.  
>"Oliver, as well?" she asked as a smirk slid across her thin, tanned lips and her warm, green eyes flickered to me to read my thoughts.<br>I saw Patrick's eye shift side to side as he tried to think of another lie, but he didn't have one, so he nodded.  
>Mom's head fell backwards slightly, clearly not believing him. But I guessed that she trusted him because she motioned us to leave, smiling almost knowingly at us. Maybe she knew what we were up to. Maybe she trusted us enough not to do anything foolish. Or maybe she just had no idea at all.<br>"_Non dimenticare di indossare abiti caldi_," she said in her soft motherly tone, telling us to dress warmly, as it was fall and the weather was starting to turn.  
>"'Kay, Mom," Patrick smiled, nodding to her suggestion as he quickly grabbed our coats and hats before leaving the house again.<br>"_Ci vediamo dopo, Mamma,_" I told her. _Mamma_ was what I called her when I was that age, and it would take a few more years for me to grow out of it, but at the time I wanted to make an effort to impress her and so I used her language as well, unlike Patrick.  
>We never smoked those <em>Marlboro<em> cigarettes.  
>Patrick forgot to steal a lighter. The idiot. But we never got the chance to take them back and hide them again because while we were crouched in the bushes of that cold, wet park, some older kids heard us while we were arguing over who had to risk putting the damn cigs back. And once those douche bags laid eyes on the cigarettes, their was no way we could've run or talked our way out. So they mugged us. Well, I say mugged, but it was a lot less violent and a lot more pathetic. It took just one glare from the biggest teenage thug as he extended his hand to Patrick for him to cave and hand them over. <em>Figures, huh?<em>  
>So Patrick and I went home empty handed, with bruised prides and tears streaming down our faces. But he told me to suck it up before Mom saw us, and so I did.<br>Neither Mom or Dad ever found out though... or... maybe Dad did, but only didn't tell anyone in fear of getting caught by Mom for having them in the first place.

I know that I can be incredibly and infuriatingly nostalgic at times, especially regarding my parents and Mika and Lizzie and Patrick, but this time, I don't take the cigarettes for that reason. The truth is, I take them because I'm a teenager, and rebellion, even in the apocalypse, is unavoidable. What can I say...? I wanna try one. Only one, though. Then I can finally put my childhood fantasy to bed. I'll give the rest to Daryl or something... one day. I mean, it's not like lung cancer is my biggest problem around here anyway. I'm much more likely to starve to death or get torn apart by teeth.  
>I flip open the packet, seeing that it is still fairly full. I have only been leaning into this car for a moment, so before I look suspicious, I push myself out and subtly stuff the cigarettes into my back pocket before pulling my shirt a little to cover the small outline of the packet.<br>Carl lifts his brow when I glance at him. "Find anything useful?" he asks.  
>I smile, because his question has unintentionally offered me loop hole, so I shake my head, "Nope, nothing useful," I answer truthfully as I go back over to him. <strong><em>Really...?<em>** _Yeah. Cigarettes aren't useful..._ **_I hope you're proud._** _Oh shut up. I'll show him them later. Knowing him he'll only convince me to throw them away._  
>I drop my hand, glancing down at it because I kind of crave to hold Carl's hand again. But I understand that he is holding Judith so I let my desire go and continue walking beside him. But Carl must have noticed, because he hoists Judith a little higher on his right hip, holding her securely with one arm around her before dropping his free, left hand and lacing our fingers together.<br>I smile, closing my eyes tightly as my sudden ecstatic mood threatens to shake the earth under us. I know things are pretty shit right now. Really shit. But I can't help but feel hopeful with Carl here and everyone else. I mean, that's every dream of mine come true in one afternoon. It's possible. Someday, we might get through this and come out stronger in the end. I know that some of us didn't make it. Patrick, Beth, Hershel, Molly, Luke, Mika, Lizzie... all of the other Prison Residents. And I know that people will die... I know that I will die. But we made it this far, and we have survived and found each other again. And I feel safe in the knowledge that with all of us here, working together as a team – a family, we can survive... and live... as long as we stay together.  
>Carl looks over my shoulder and I follow his gaze, seeing Rick stop at a Terminus sign we had just passed on the track. He grabs some mud from the floor in a dirty rag and smears it over the sign, and I know that he is erasing the lie written on it. <strong><em>Good. It sure as hell was no sanctuary. Not there.<em>**

And so, together we cross the all too familiar train track and head into the tree line, keeping the dark tower of smoke behind us as we walk further away from Terminus, hoping to leave the name and place behind us forever.

**Notes**

Hello! Sorry for the few days hiatus. I was cursed with minimal internet! But I'm back. Hope you enjoyed this little chapter :) More to come x

I realise that this chapter had no story progression. But it was more just to welcome back everyone. Lots LOTS more action and boy things to come :D hahaahaaha, pun unintended... or was it...? Teheheeheheheee... oh dear what am I doing with my life?

The next chapter will get on to the more important things that needs to be confronted. Oliver has a lot of things he needs to get off his chest... Also, they are both pretty badly broken since they last saw each other, and well, trauma doesn't just go away...

THANKS FOR THE READING AND SUPPORT! MEANS SO MUCH TO ME THAT IT HURTS!

Happy reading xx :_)_


	33. Chapter 33 I Don't Want To Forget

**Eli-XD-O **Aren't they adorable? God, I adore Judith, she is one of my favorite characters in the show!

**Prettyprincess45 **I'd never call you a weirdo :D yeah, there's something fun about writing filler chapters, because it's really a time to delve into your character and their relations with others. Thank you so much, you made me blush!

**mks 12 98 **Don't worry about the cigarettes, they will have a small coda in the story :) Btw, I don't approve the use of drugs, so I doubt Oliver will smoke them... or will her...? I guess you'll have to keep reading. That's not an order, don't actually read if you don't want to haha

**Oliver's POV**

We keep walking through the woods right up until the evening when the sun begins to descend into the tree line. And finally, we find a small area to set up camp and stop to rest. I set myself on the ground beside Carl, temporarily taking Judith from him as he sets up her formula bottle.  
>"How much do we have left?" I ask.<br>Carl holds his arms out for Judith again and I hand her back over, smirking as she gargles at me in protest because she wants to stay with me. "Few days... I think," Carl answers, placing the bottle to his sister's mouth to let her drink and after a moment she settles and snuggles into him.  
>"We'll find something," I reassure him, sensing that he is hiding his worry.<br>He looks up at me, letting a fraction of a smile grow over his lips. "Hope," is all Carl says, and I can't tell if he is lacking in it, or if he is saying it out of the hope that he might feel. I don't even think _he _knows.  
>He watches me for a long moment as everyone else goes about their business in chatting and setting themselves on the ground around the fire Rosita is preparing. "What happened?" Carl asks me dubiously, his voice quiet and careful. "After... What happened to you, Oliver?"<br>I feel my heart ache, suddenly opening and closing my mouth as I try to answer him. My brow arches and then knits into a frown in frustration, rendered unable to share no matter how much I feel like I need to. But how can I explain the unexplainable? How can I explain everything that has happened to me since those Claimers, since finding Carol and Tyreese and the girls... since their deaths? Their murders...  
>"I... I can't," I get out, gulping back the bomb in my mouth as I am overpowered by the memories of it all, feeling it stab at the back of my throat as thoughts roll through my memory. Dan, pinning me to the cold tile floor, sneering in my ear as he tried to molested me. Mika dying in my arms as the beautiful light in her eyes flickered out like a light bulb. The gunshot from Carol's gun as she was forced to take Lizzie's life. The second man I murdered, slumping to the floor with my bullet between his eyes.<br>Carl purses his lips as he watches my turmoil, a kind of empathy spreading over his expression that scares me.

**Carl's POV**

They hurt him. I know they did. How much I don't know, but I know that whatever happened to Oliver is still haunting him. Everything that has happened to me haunts me, too. And I want Oliver to know that. I need him to know that he isn't alone in this.  
>"Those men... they-" I start, swallowing as I reconstruct my sentence again, "they'd been searching for us since Dad killed one of 'em in the suburb house... They found us... last night."<br>Oliver's breath hitches and his expression widens and winces at the same time, "No," he mutters desperately and I watch as he shakes his head and arches his brow in dread.  
>My throat closes, refusing to speak anymore at the sight of him so distraught. Oliver's reaction only proves that he knew what those men were capable of... and what I am terrified that they have done to him. I look away, avoiding his eyes as I focus on feeding my sister, suddenly feeling like I can't tell him everything after all, just like when I told Oliver about Shane... and putting down my mom.<br>But Oliver can't let my words go and as he asks his next question he is so afraid of my answer that his body and hands begin to shake. "Carl... did... did they-?"  
>"No," I shake my head before he finishes, not wanting him to endure his agony any longer than he has already. "No. They're dead."<br>Oliver almost collapses with relief, closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh through his nose as he braces his hands on the dirt. But it's not me that I need him to be worried about. I need to know what they did to him. But I need him to know that he can tell me anything. So I bottle my trauma and force the evens of last night out of my throat.  
>"They held Dad an' Michonne captive... Five of 'em, I think. One man, Joe, said stuff about you. That you escaped an' that your trail went cold... but... I knew you were still alive. It took a while... but I knew," I pause to offer him a reassuring smile, which Oliver does his best to return. "Daryl was with 'em. He didn't know how bad they were. Was jus' gonna stay until he found somewhere better. But when he saw us he tried to help. He tried to talk to 'em but, they turned on 'im... A guy grabbed me. Dragged me out of the truck I was sleepin' in an' tried to," I stop when Oliver's expression tenses, knowing that he doesn't need to hear what that monster tried to do to me. "Dad, Michonne an' Daryl killed them." I glance at Dad as he talks to Tara a few hundred yards away, making sure that he doesn't over hear me. Not because he wouldn't want Oliver to know what he had to do, just so that he doesn't have to be reminded about it. "Things got bad. Real bad. Daryl was gettin' beat. Michonne couldn't do anythin'... an' I was-... well, Dad got pinned by Joe, an' then... He... he bit him - tore his throat out," I watch Oliver almost shudder at my description, imagining the horror that I had to witness, and I keep talking. "Michonne an' Daryl took out the other three... an' then it was jus' the guy who grabbed me."<br>"Did he have um, uh-" Oliver starts, clearing his throat of his emotion before continuing, "a-a beard, and... was he big?" he asks, fighting his frown.  
>I nod, waiting for Oliver to elaborate as to why he needed to know, but he doesn't, so I keep talking with his nod to do so. "Dad got him. Gutted him... let him come back... an'then killed him again."<br>Oliver purses his lips, wincing as he takes in everything I have just told him before letting out a long sigh of what I want to call relief. "And... are you okay?" he asks finally.  
>I stare at him, wondering how on earth he is still concerned about me when I can see that so much worse has happened to him.<br>"Are you?" I ask instead of answering him, because I know that our answers will be the same... and Oliver knows this, too.

I am not okay after what happened to me... so how in the world can Oliver be?

Oliver's eyes shift between mine, before he leans forward and rests his head on me, rolling it over to press his cheek on my shoulder,careful not to lean on Judith as she continues to drink her formula in my arms. "No," he answers for the both of us. "But I will be. _We_ will be."  
>I balance Judith's bottle in the hand I am using to hold her and she continues to drink happily, and then I use my free hand to gently stroke the hair out of Oliver's forehead, hearing him sigh and feeling his warm breath blow over my collar bones.<br>"I love you," I whisper to him, feeling like I have to make sure that he still knows this, because I do love Oliver... not even those sick bastards can change that.  
>"Love you, too, Carl," Oliver replies in a whisper against my collar bone, lifting his hand to mine as I play with a strand of his fringe, running his thumb over my wrist before pulling my hand to his mouth and planting a warm kiss on my cut up knuckle. His brow furrows slightly as he does and I know that he has figured out how I must have gotten the injuries.<br>Oliver isn't ready to tell me everything that happened to him. I've seen how close he is with Carol and Tyreese, almost as if they have silent conversations with each other. Telepathic communication. A deep, unbreakable bond formed over the journey they took while they were travelling together. There's more to his story than what happened with those Claimers, and there's more to their story than just the long walk here. I realise that. And I respect that whatever it was, they aren't ready to share yet. Maybe they never will. But I hope at least one day Oliver feels safe enough to tell me. I owe him that comfort. It's the least I can give him.

**Oliver's POV**

After a little while I can feel myself drifting off into light slumber despite the fact that the woods are still full of natural light, so I make myself sit up, knowing that I will end up squashing Judith if I'm not careful.  
>Carl smiles at me softly. "Tired?" he asks quietly, letting the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly with his smile.<br>I nod, moving to lie down. I don't even care that I have nothing under me, I just need to sleep. But just as I go to move, flattening my palms on the soil to lower myself, of course, it seems that the universe has other plans for me.  
>"Oliver?" the quiet call of Rick a few yards away grabs my attention as he leans on a tree trunk to look at me.<br>"Y-yeah?" I answer the man, befuddled as he beckons me over with his head.  
>I glance back at Carl, expecting him to accompany me, for some reason under the impression that Rick wants him as well. But the teenager raises his brow and nods his head for me to go alone. "He didn't ask for me?" he says, a hint of confusion and worry in his voice.<br>I look back to the adult Grimes, seeing him beckon me over again. _Me? He wants to talk to me alone? _**_Yes, Oliver..._** _Uhh..._ **_Well go!_** I stand up quickly, suddenly not feeling tired at all anymore as I head over to the man, making an effort not to glance back at Carl and awkwardly stuffing my hands in my pockets as I go. But then remembering my manners and taking them out again, opening and closing them by my sides from not knowing what else to do with them.  
>"Everything okay?" I ask him as I stand in front of him, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach.<br>He nods and puts a hand on my shoulder, "Yeah. Is it alright if I talk to you a minute?" Rick asks, shifting his eyes between mine.  
>I nod, about to ask what about. But I feel him pull me to follow him slightly and so I keep quiet as he leads me away from the others a little way into the woods... but I think I can take a guess of what he wants to talk about anyway, and it makes my stomach churn from my nerves.<br>He stops a few hundred yards away from everyone; still in sight and faint ear shot but far enough away to talk in hushed tones without being over heard. Rick turns to me, taking a moment to scan our surroundings with his hands on his hips before finally looking me in the eyes. "I'm guessing you've realised why I've asked you out here?" he begins.  
>"Yes Sir," I answer, nodding as I hold his gaze, "I think so."<br>Rick nods, breaking our eye contact as his head dips for a moment, before looking back to me and crinkling the corners of his eyes like Carl does so often. "Good," he says, pausing as he thinks of what he wants to say to me and I try not to show how awkward I really feel, but am sure that he can feel the awkwardness anyway. "So, you and Carl're boyfriend's," he says, not really asking, yet not particularly with any incredulous tone behind his words either, just a simple statement that is waiting for potential confirmation.  
>I nod slowly, "Yes... w-we are, Sir," I answer him.<br>Rick raises his hand and rubs his chin, looking around and doing something I want to call a nod. He looks back at me. "How long?" he asks, drawing out the question due to his Southern Drawl and raspy voice.  
>"Not long, Sir. Uh, technically... this is kinda the third day." I tell him, feeling like I should smile, or laugh, but my whole body is too tense to do so. So instead I just kind of shrug awkwardly and force myself to keep looking at him, ignoring my nervous and palpitating heart.<br>"Does he treat you well?" Rick asks seriously.  
>I furrow my brow, confused that he would ask it that way around rather than asking if I am treating Carl well, but I answer him before I pause for too long. "Yes, he does," I say truthfully, not able to stop the content smile that spreads across my mouth. "He's a good man," I add, only just truly appreciating that term for Carl. I always call him 'Man', but I had never really meant it like I do now. Now I realise that he is nothing short of a true, honest Man.<br>"That's good to hear," Rick smiles proudly, letting out a short, modest chuckle at my words. "And you're treating him well?" he asks.  
>I purse my lips and give a small nod, "I hope so. As far as I know, Sir," I answer truthfully.<br>"You're a good man. You both are, an' I'm proud of you," Rick says.  
>I draw my lips into my mouth, pressing down on them as I try to subdue my smile, feeling my heart swell in my chest as I force myself to accept such a compliment, especially from him. "Thank you, Rick," I say, finally using his first name out loud again like he told me to all that time ago.<br>Rick holds my gaze and I watch as something suddenly bleeds across his expression... guilt. Intense guilt. And it is so overwhelming for him that it forces his brow to arch.  
>"Rick?" I get out, worry surging through me.<br>Rick draws in a sharp breath, shaking his head a fraction as he drops my gaze, taking a moment to recompose himself. "I'm sorry," he apologises.  
>I furrow my brow, feeling my breath hitch in alarm.<br>"I'm so sorry, Oliver," Rick almost sobs, "for everything... I shoulda never let it all happen... I'm so sorry. I shoulda done something. I can never forgive myself... an' I don't expect you to either. But I need you to know how sorry I am. And how grateful I am that you did what you did," he grips my shoulder, forcing his expression to relax slightly, though it still tenses every few moments as his emotions fight to be recognised. "You saved my family, my boy an' my baby... And I can never repay you for that."  
>I stare at him for a long moment, completely shocked by his apology. "I-I... I've never blamed you for what happened in the suburb house. I did what I had to do," I get out, choosing one thing to tell him out of the hundred other things reeling through my mind. And before he can respond, I choose another thing to say as well. "And Carol, Ty and I... we did what we had to do to keep Judy safe... And we did what we had to to save you all at Terminus. You'd do the same for us... that's what family's for."<br>Rick nods, taking a deep breath as he composes himself again. "Thank you, Oliver," he says sincerely, "for... everything."  
>I nod, "You're welcome," I tell him truthfully. "Everything works out the way it was suppose to."<br>Rick lets a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he nods in agreement. My gaze drops to the leafy floor, unsure if using Mika's motto does her justice. But I try not to ponder over her at the moment, knowing that I will only depress myself, so I glance back up at Rick.  
>He purses his lips, pausing for a long moment as his brow knits into a frown again. "Oliver," he says, looking at me intensely, "are you okay...?"<br>**_No._**  
>"Yes Sir," I answer, blocking out the memories.<br>Rick stares at me for a long moment as he reads my expression like so many times he must have had to do so for his work in the police before this, and I do well to keep myself relaxed under his gaze. Finally he nods, "Okay," he says, and I can't tell if he believes me.  
>But then his expression tenses again slightly and he drops his hand along with his gaze, another thing on his mind that he needs to talk to me about. <strong><em>Well, it has been over<em>** **_a_** **_week, I guess Rick has a lot of things he needs to clear up with you, huh?_**  
>I recognise his expression as the same one Carl uses when he doesn't know whether or not to ask something. And like usual, I know I shouldn't find it funny, but I still have to fight the faint smirk on my face as I watch Rick's mild struggle. But then I suddenly realise what is troubling him so much... <strong><em>Oh no. <em>**And my smile drops faster than his did. **_He's not... is he?_** **_Oh_** **_god, please_** **_no...?_** **_No,_** **_no, please...?_**  
>"I'm not sure how close you an' Carl both are right now... yet... but, uh," Rick begins.<br>My stomach drops and I can feel my cheeks burn. **_Oh, no... you're kidding me,_** **_right?_**  
>"I mean, I've spoken to Carl 'bout this back at The Prison. But uh, not... well, not this kinda stuff... I jus'... he's still fourteen, an' you're only jus' fifteen... W-well, I'll talk to him, too, eventually... but, uh, I jus' wanna know that you both aren't rushin' into things too quickly. You're still only kids, an' I know it's easy to get carried away sometimes, especially now but, uh-"<br>"We're not," I blurt out, forcing my expression not to cringe as I speak and almost hurting from my crimson cheeks. "No, we're not, uh, doing... _that stuff_... We know we're n-not ready for it – for _that_. You don't need to worry about us." I struggle to hold his eye contact, but I am telling the truth, so I keep looking at him, holding the cerulean eye contact that my boyfriend has inherited.  
>Rick holds my gaze, shifting his eyes between both of mine for a moment before finally nodding. "You sure? 'Cause I'd rather you talked... whether it'd be to me, or Carol, or Michonne... you know? If, uh, you both needed... to talk."<br>"I'm sure," I get out without choking on my words.  
>He doesn't say anything for a moment, and I use every ounce of my strength not to move a muscle as I wait for him to respond in fear that I will burst out laughing or gasping or coughing... or something equally ridiculous that I won't be able to control.<br>But that's when Carol walks over to us. "Oliver? Can you gi-" She stops just as she notices Rick with me. "Oh, sorry. Thought you were alone... Am I interruptin' anythin'?" she asks.  
>I look at Rick for his answer, because quite frankly I am more than happy for this to be the end of our conversation.<br>He glances at me, nodding as a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it gently, giving me a subtle private nod. "Yes," is all he says, and I know that he isn't only answering Carol... but also giving me his acceptance.  
>I grin, unable to relax my expression as my heart swells ten times as much as before, threatening to explode from my rib cage.<br>He nods again, before turning to exchange a glance with Carol and then walking away back to camp.  
>Carol steps over to me and I look from Rick and the others to her. "What's up?" I ask her.<br>She doesn't answer me right away, instead she follows my previous gaze to where Rick had just left. "Did he talk to you?" she asks, not needing to ask about what.  
>I nod and raise my brow at her, purposely not giving her a verbal answer as I wait for her to answer my own question from before.<br>She smiles, reluctantly letting the subject I can tell she really wants to talk about go. "Ty an' I were gonna get some more water for everyone – can you give us a hand?" she says.  
>"Uh huh," I nod, "oh, uh, did you give Rick his watch yet?" I ask curiously.<br>"Not yet," her expression softens along with her tone. "I'll talk to him... when it's quieter... I gotta talk to him 'bout everything else, too... so, givin' him his watch back can be like an ice breaker," Carol kind of jokes, though we both know that the subject is going to be a lot more sensitive than she is making out.  
>I nod, pursing my lips into a reassuring smile. "It'll be okay," I say comfortingly, waiting a moment before jerking my hand in the direction back to camp, "shall we get to filling the waters?"<br>Carol smiles slightly and nods, "Yeah, c'mon," she says, turning and expecting me to follow. So I do, letting her lead the way back to camp to collect all the water bottles.

"What did Dad want?" Carl asks me quietly, handing me his water bottle as he has figured out what I am doing as I rummage around in the supply bag for a few other bottles.  
>"I'll tell you later," I say, grabbing Judith's now empty bottle. "I'll wash this for you."<br>"Thanks," Carl says, going back to coo to his little sister. "Stay safe."  
>I smile at him, nudging his elbow. "I will," I say quietly before standing and following Carol to meet Tyreese at the edge of our temporary camp, and we all make our way to the stream we passed on our way here.<br>We begin washing the bottles. Carol and I use the opportunity to wash the last of the dried walker guts off of anywhere that we had missed before. When we are clean, we move a little upstream to fill the bottles up with the undisturbed water on the surface of the slow stream.  
>"Talked to Rick," Tyreese says a moment later and I glance to my right at him, assuming that he somehow is talking about The Grimes' encounter with me a minute ago, but he looks at Carol on his other side, "some o' them know what you did... at The Prison," he adds.<br>I look back to my task, listening to them but staying quiet in the tense atmosphere that Tyreese's sensitive subject has created.  
>"Daryl, Maggie. They accept it," he says. "You wouldn't be here if they didn't... I'll talk to the rest, tell 'em to accept it, too."<br>I look up from the filling water bottle without moving my head, exchanging a glance with Carol. She purses her lips at me and then looks back at the bottle she is filling. "You don't have to do that," she says, like I knew she would. **_She still wants to leave... doesn't she...?_** _I think so._ **_Well, I_** **_won't let her. I'm not giving up on her after everything we have been through. No chance._**  
>"No," Tyreese insists gently, looking at the conflicted woman, "they do... They just do."<br>I furrow my brow, disturbed by how his voice trailed off a little, though keeping quiet as I grab another bottle and begin to fill it.  
>"We don't need to tell 'em about the girls," Tyreese breaks the trickling sound of the stream.<br>I tense up, just the mention of Mika and Lizzie out loud sending those painful pangs of guilt through my gut and causing my eyes to close on themselves. And I have to shake my head to clear it.  
>"I don't want to," he adds.<br>I open my eyes and look at him, holding his eye contact for a moment as we share our -still healing- devastation together.  
>"Why?" Carol asks as I look away and stare down at the full bottle in the water, taking a moment before lifting it, re-capping it and then getting another.<br>"I jus' need to forget," Tyreese answers.  
>I think of what Carl told me the day Patrick died. <em>"<em>_You need the pain to remember what you still have. You can't let yourself forget how bad it feels. You gotta hold onto it. You need the pain to survive. Without the pain, you forget, and it'll only hit you harder the next time... The pain you're feeling right now, it only makes you stronger."_  
>Carol stands up and collects all of her full water bottles. And I go and join her, sharing the eight or so bottles between us.<br>"I don't want to forget," I whisper to her so that Tyreese doesn't hear, holding Carol's gaze as she stares right back at me. "I just... want it to stop hurting... but I don't wanna forget what happened... I don't wanna forget them."  
>Carol gives me a sympathetic smile and gently pulls me in to hug her, wrapping her free arm around my middle and rubbing comforting circles into my shoulder blade. "I know. And you don't have to forget. It's good that you don't want to. But it is what it is. You get through it – you fight it. That's how it works now..." she says quietly, pausing for a long moment as I keep hold of her. "Everything works out the way it's suppose to."<br>My brow furrows into her shirt shoulder as she recites Mika's innocent motto to me, and I feel my heart ache again. But I trust Carol. And I know she is right. So without a word I pull away slightly, curving my lips into a sad smile before gently leaning forward and kissing her cheek. Carol smiles at me, stroking her thumb over my shoulder before I pull away to collect the last few, full bottles.  
>Tyreese walks over, carrying all of his bottles and then leading the way back to camp, motioning us to come with him, so we hoist the bottles up in our arms a little more and head through the woods together.<br>We get back a few minutes later, just as the sun begins to turn the sky a dimming orange-blue colour. We place the bottles with Tara and Maggie and they proceed to boil the water for everyone. I bid them and most everyone else goodnight before finally heading over to Carl, finding him led on his stomach with his forehead rested on his forearms and facing down into the dirt with his sheriffs' hat placed just above him.  
>"Comfy?" I ask him in jest, sitting beside him and amused by the unnatural positions he manages to get himself in when he is tired.<br>"Hm?" he mumbles as he rolls his head to look at me, smiling suddenly. "Oh. Yeah, actually. Better than The Office Blocks," he jokes.  
>"I highly doubt that," I counteract in jest, splaying myself on the earth beside him in the same position that he is in. But then rolling onto my back, finding it a lot more comfortable like that instead. "Where's Judy?" I ask him.<br>Carl closes his eyes and points over his shoulder to his father. I spot the adult Grimes cradling the sleepy baby in his arms, wrapped warmly in her blankets and -now dry- travel sack. I look back to the tired teenager, smiling as I rest my cheek on the back of my arm.  
>I watch as his hand moves from his side and seems to almost subconsciously search for me; slithering like a snake over the soil and decomposing leaves until it finds its target. His cool skin touches my fingers and he gently laces his hand through mine and holds it. I don't move, trying to ignore the small and irritating course of adrenaline that suddenly runs through me. Though despite the fear, I am enjoying his skin on mine... I just can't seem to do anything about it yet.<br>His eyes flicker open and I blink at him for a moment, letting myself become comforted and feeling my confidence return a little as I drift into the deep, electric blue that glows through the dimming woods.  
>"What did he say earlier?" Carl whispers.<br>I roll over to face him properly, keeping hold of Carl's hand as I use my other to rest my face on. "Your dad?" I ask.  
>Carl nods, briefly closing his eyes as he does before looking at me again.<br>"He wanted to know about us. If we were treating each other right - looking out for each other, you know?" I answer, missing out the part about Rick apologising to me, because I respect that the apology was only for me to hear. I am about to tell Carl about his father thinking we were sleeping together, but I decide against it. I'm sure Rick will talk to his son about that in his own time, but for now... I am not going there.  
>"And, he's okay with it? With us?" Carl asks dubiously.<br>"Yeah," I answer truthfully.  
>It's pretty dark now and I can hear that most of the other's are either quietly chatting to themselves out of eye shot or sleeping, so I lean forward slightly... I want to kiss him. I know I do... and I watch as the almost shining blueness recedes as Carl's pupils blow, and he leans forward, too. I close my eyes, feeling the heat from his skin as he moves closer to me until we are only millimetres apart. My breath hitches, wanting so much to do this but feeling that horrible adrenaline again. But I bury it, knowing that I need to do this.<br>And so, I let our lips touch, and for the first time in too long, we kiss.  
>I know that after everything that Dan did to me it has changed how comfortable I feel with this kind of intimacy. And I try not to think about how scared I am as I feel Carl nestle his lips into mine.<br>But I am scared... and it's infuriating.  
>Carl senses my tension and parts our lips, though he doesn't move away and I refuse to let myself move away either. And so we stay where we are, resting our foreheads together. I can feel myself shaking from the fear and my anger at myself builds, making me frown into his eyebrows.<br>"I'm sorry," I whisper to him, unable to stop my breath from hitching as I hold back my tears.  
>I can feel Carl watching me; the fluttering of his eyelashes as they brush over my closed lids. "It's okay," he whispers gently. "You're okay... You don't have to be afraid of me, Oliver."<br>I keep my eyes closed and shake my head against his thick fringe, guilt for letting him think like that making me feel like I am sinking into the earth. "I'm not," I mutter quietly, tensing my jaw as I try to relax my eyebrows. I lift my hand, feeling it continue to quiver slightly as I stroke it across his jawline, gently and blindly exploring his facial features with my fingers. "I'm not," I repeat.  
>It's true, really it is. I'm not afraid of Carl.<br>Like I've thought before; I'm afraid of what this world is going to do to him. I'm afraid of losing him. I don't think I could bare it... not again. I need him to keep all of my broken pieces together. I need him to be here. I need him to be safe... and it terrifies me that I have so little control over his or any of our futures.  
>I feel him nod against my forehead. "Okay," he says, pausing for a long time before talking again. "Oliver?"<br>I nod, still keeping my eyes closed as I run my thumb over his cheek, trying my best to stop my hands from shaking slightly.  
>"Remember when I told you about when I got shot?" he asks quietly.<br>I nod again.  
>"When I told you about the deer, an' then about not having control over myself during my seizure?"<br>"Yeah," I say truthfully.  
>"There was something else," he tells me, causing me to pay impossibly more attention to him. "I remember waking up, the first time. Hershel was removing the bullet shards... I woke up from the pain. I could feel him taking the shards out of my chest. I woke up screaming... Shane was holding me down. Mom and Dad were trying to calm me... but I could still feel Hershel... pulling the shards out. The pain was so bad that after a moment I blacked out again."<br>Carl's words are like a blow to the chest. He finally stops talking when I wince so badly that it causes me to make a quiet and accidental mewing noise.  
>"Please, stop," I get out, frowning against him and unable to hear this, as the thought of him in so much agony it unbearable.<br>I open my eyes as Carl shifts his weight on his side, looking like he is beginning to feel guilty for making me so uncomfortable and seeming as though he is doubting where he originally intended to take his conversation. But he regains his surety and holds my gaze.  
>"I thought I'd never feel pain that bad again," he whispers, "but... then you were gone... That was worse. But the pain wasn't in one place like with the bullet. The pain was everywhere, and it was slow - got worse with every day. Every moment. Until I just blocked it out and jus' went numb... I needed you with me, Oliver... and you needed me. But that didn't happen," his words are so gentle and only for my ears, and I absorb every syllable like my life depends on it. "But now... You're here... I'm here..." he whispers, reading my anxieties in no way anyone else in the world can. "I'm here for you, Oliver."<br>A lump forms in my throat and my brow arches as I stifle my sob. But I'm not sad. I'm not even afraid anymore. I'm overjoyed, filled with so much love that I am sure I will erupt with it. Half expecting it to all just spill out of me and drown the both of us. I love Carl, more than I can ever show him. So much so that it scares me. So much so that I sometimes fear that I will lose all control over myself.  
>But I guess that that's what falling in love is… falling, in a sense that it truly is uncontrollable and completely unstoppable, but also it is somehow the opposite of falling... like flying, making you rise up further and better than you thought you ever could. Though I realise that I don't even understand the half of it. Love is limitless, but so much more so than I have ever wondered before. But love can also be lost so easily. Before everything happened, love would be lost by such unnecessary things and just because no one truly appreciated how important it really is. It would've been because of an affair or abuse or distrust or a disagreement, something as simple or irrelevant as that. But now, in this cruel world, love can be lost by so much worse. Now the only thing that can stop it is caused by nothing we can possibly control... one bullet... one cut… one bite... one scratch... All gone in moments and it is absolutely terrifying. Unbearably terrifying...<br>I can't lose Carl. Not ever. He is everything to me and I need him. I know that this is an unwise thing to believe now, but I also know that Carl feels the same way. We are a team. A perfect team of heart, mind and soul. And I absolutely love him for it.  
>Then I lean in, kissing him again.<br>I believe what he said. How could I not after everything we have been through? I know Carl is here for me, just like I always will be for him, too. And as I kiss him I can feel him passing as much of his strength to me through his gentle and reassuring contact, willing me to ease up with him as he gently kisses me back. And when I pull away... I am no longer shaking.  
>"See?" Carl whispers on a breath, a soft smile on his parted lips that I just make out in the darkness. "I'm here."<br>I nod, gazing into his eyes and feeling no fear or dread, just adoration and appreciation for the man I am irrevocably in love with.

"I know."

**Notes**

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. :)

Quite a lot of dialogue, but a lot of this stuff just needed to get out in the open. Lots of action and funny crap (I hope) in the next chapter :)

Preview: They'll be meeting someone new next chapter. And Oliver becomes aware of how much fun messing with Carl can be sometimes :)

Don't forget to leave your thoughts of this chappy in the comments x I'll upload next Saturday if I get a few :)

As always,  
>Happy reading xx :<em>)<em>


	34. Chapter 34 Strangers

Made a slight boo boo. I am going to still be uploading this every day UNTIL Saturday :) then the chapters will be around once a week x

**Eli-XD-O **yeah, it was nice to just get everything off of Oliver's chest for him. Thanks!

**I Love Fanfics **EEEP! Thank you! You're so totally awesome! All the love is so encouraging and motivating!

**inazumahunter **Yeah, Rick would be stupid not to accept Oliver and Carl. I'm so glad you were nervous, too. I mean, I'm not glad I made you nervous, I am glad that my writing was the means to make you nervous... uh, you know what I mean XD THANKS! ADORE YA! Oh, and Oliver's sarcasm will be back! :D

**mks 12 98 **AW Thank you! Yeah, that whole soppy thing was gonna be put in a lot later into the story. Probably when they lost their virginity together or something. But I just put it in and it fitted okay so I left it like that.

**Oliver's POV**

I wake, curled up into Carl's chest. I can feel his warm skin against my forehead and nose, and the worn, dirty collar of his long sleeve pressed comfortably against my parted lips. I lift my hand, thumbing the snagged holes in the fabric that I remember weren't nearly this big at the suburb house. **_We_** **_really_** **_need to find new clothes soon._** _Yeah, I'm pretty sure that mine are going to mould into my skin_ _if I wear them for_ _too much_ _longer._ **_Oh, man... that's disgusting._**  
>Carl dips his chin, lifting his hand and sleepily brushing away my extremity, thinking it must be a leaf or insect or something. It seems that after so long apart, he isn't used to waking up with me like this. To be fair, we have only slept with each other like this a few times before. I chuckle as I drop my hand again, accepting defeat. So I sit up, pulling myself from the sleepy teenager and rubbing the sleep and dirt from my eyes.<br>I grab my beanie from the ground where it must have slipped off some time last night and then pull it back on my head, shivering when I drop my hands. I rub my arms to warm myself slightly as I take a look around. Everyone else is still asleep or only just waking up, apart from Abraham, who is rummaging around in his supply bag with a frown on his thick, orange brow; an expression that I don't think I have seen him relax since I first met him.  
>I turn to Carl, noticing that the scabbing on his cheek has improved a little. I lean over and gently tap his arm, "Carl," I mutter, yawning. "Wake up, Man."<br>He stirs and I watch him open on eye to search for the cause of his disturbance, grumbling something to himself that I don't understand before stubbornly going back to sleep again.  
>I remember when I tried to wake him up that day in The Office Blocks, when he mumbled something about string beans and told me to piss off. I let him go back to sleep back then out of kindness. But I also remember when he smacked me on the forehead with my <em>Butterfly Lion<em> book to wake me once, causing me to cuss in front of his father...  
><strong><em>I think you deserve some pay back... don't you, Oliver?<em>**  
>I hesitate, considering being so mischievous and almost going against the thought... but it gets the better of me and I think of an idea. A cruel idea. But an idea all the same.<br>I lean down to him, grinning madly as I hold my mouth above his ear and draw in a deep breath.

And then...  
>I blow in it.<p>

Instantly, Carl's hand flies up to his face, barley missing me as he slaps himself across the jaw.  
>I leap back, smacking my hand over my mouth to stop the laugh that tries to erupt from my lungs. <strong><em>Oh shit. I didn't think he'd do that!<em>**  
>"Gyugh!" he grunts a yelp and sits bolt upright, grimacing as he continues to thrash wildly at his ear with his hands. "Ughh!"<br>"Whoa, whoa! Carl. I-it... it was just me," I gasp between my laughs, staring wide eyed at him in alarm.  
>Carl grimaces, panting as he holds his hand over his ear. "The hell?" he hisses quietly, his eyes squinting and his mouth hanging open in his sleepy haze. "I thought a bug was crawlin' in my ear or somethin'... Jeeze, Oliver."<br>I snort a laugh. "I'm sorry... I didn't think you'd get so freaked out."  
>I hear Rick quietly chuckling to himself and I glance at him over my shoulder, smiling as I see him fighting the grin on his face at me and his son, amused by my rude awakening method as he cradles an awake Judith in his arms.<br>"Morning," I greet him, stifling my laughter and feeling my cheeks heat up as I wasn't aware that he was watching us.  
>Rick smirks and nods, "Mornin' you two, get ready to go. We'll be headin' out soon," he says.<br>I nod and look back to Carl. The grumpy teenager glares at me, slowly dropping his hand from his ear and resting it lazily in his lap. "Goof," he insults half heartedly, but I can see the soft smile on his lips as he holds my gaze, and for a moment... just one single moment, we seem to share our happiness to be with each other again, and my heart soars in my chest.  
>"Sorry, Man," I apologise, trying to continue the momentum of our conversation before we lose ourselves in our shared ecstasy. Because I am pretty sure that if we keep staring at each other like that I won't be able to stop myself from reacquainting myself with his lips again, no matter how many people are around.<br>Carl shrugs, still smiling with that soft curve in his lips. "Yeah well," he mutters, glancing at my lips, seemingly fighting the same impulses that I am. "Revenge is a dish best served cold."  
>I cock my brow, "What?" I scoff incredulously. "That <em>was<em> revenge. _My_ revenge... remember _Butterfly Lion_?"  
>Carl takes a moment to realise what I am talking about, but then scoffs a laugh when he does and rolls his eyes, trying to suppress his grin. "My god," he mumbles to himself, dipping his head, "since when is Oliver De Luca a worse grudge holder than me?"<br>I smirk at him, "I have no idea, but it seems that way, huh?" I ask rhetorically.  
>Carl glances at me and smiles, pushing himself to a crouching position and stretching his arms out. He groans a little, before standing up. "I'm gonna get some water," he announces as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, "D'you want anything?"<br>I shake my head no.  
>"Dad?"<br>"Formula'd be good... Got any more pecans, too?" Rick answers.  
>Carl nods, before going over to the pile of water bottles (now all boiled and drinkable) and picks up one, before quickly rummaging around in his father's supply bag to get Judith's formula, some pecans and a nut cracker.<br>He comes back over, handing his father what he asked for and the man proceeds to feed his daughter. Then Carl comes back over to me and I notice that he is holding four pecans. He sets himself on the soil next to me and takes a swig of his water bottle before passing it to me.  
>"Really, I'm fine."<br>Carl's eyes shift between mine, neither telling me to drink nor letting go of the suggestion.  
>So I relent, taking the bottle from him and drinking. Again, just like yesterday when Carol gave me the water, I only just realise how incredibly thirsty I am when the water hits my tongue, and I uncontrollably drink almost half of the bottle before I stop.<br>I can see the smug teenager holding back his smirk out of the corner of my eye as I refuse to look at him, sensing him resisting the urge to say 'I told you so'. Instead, he takes the nut cracker from his dad and cracks open two pecans. He hands me one, despite me saying I didn't want anything.  
>"You should eat," he insists when I give him a look of resistance.<br>I roll my eyes in jest as I throw a piece of the pecan into my mouth, beginning to wonder how on earth he knows more about me than I seem to, because again, as soon as I start chewing, I realise how starved I am. "Thanks," I smirk, tossing the rest of my pecan in my mouth and then throwing the shell into the brush of the woods.  
>He smiles modestly, continuing to eat his own pecan. He offers me the another two, but I shake my head again. It's strange, I usually eat like a horse, but my appetite for pecans has just never been the same since The Grove. Carl seems to be aware of my silent nagging sorrow, because he doesn't press this time, and instead, just for the hell of it, stuffs the two pecans into my front jeans pocket for me.<br>For a moment I remember the _Marlboro_ cigarettes in my pocket, and expect him to feel them and pull them out. But I realise that they are still in my back pocket, so I push them out of my mind again. "Thanks," I smile at him.  
>It only takes a few minutes for us all to be ready to leave. Tyreese has Judith. So with my machete on my back, my glock in its holster, Lizzie's knife in its sheath and the supply bag in my hand, I head out with everyone else, Carl by my side.<br>We walk in silence, moving through the woods in our group of fifteen. Rosita, Eugene, Abraham, Tara, Maggie, Glenn, Michonne, Carol, Tyreese, Sasha, Bob, Judith, Rick, Carl and me. **_Wait... are you sure?_** _Yeah..._ _fifteen of us._ **_Were missing someone, though._** Just as I am about to glance around and count heads, we all hear rustling coming from a little way to our left.  
>Instinctively, I drop the supply bag and grab my glock from my holster, adrenaline surging through my body as I aim at the noise, everyone else doing the same.<br>But it's Daryl - the missing head. **_How the heck did you forget Daryl?!_**  
>"I surrender," he muses casually, holding his hands up in joking submission.<br>I sigh and relax my shoulders, exchanging an incredulous head shake with Carl at how jumpy we all are. But that's good. We need to stay on our toes especially out here. I eye up the impressive row of squirrels tied together and hanging from Daryl's arm. _Real food._ **_Hey, you're still eating the pecans!_**  
>I bend down and grab our supply bag. And we keep moving, hearing the quiet muttering of conversation between Rick and Daryl. Daryl thinks someone has been watching us... following us. Which albeit is worrying, but I haven't really put much more thought towards it because I have let myself gain confidence in being back in our group, as if nothing can touch us anymore. Which I know is pretty stupid.<br>Rick breaks away from The Redneck. He whistles to us all and motions us to hurry, "Keep close," he urges.  
>And we all do as he says, making small chatter as we go. "Alright, eating anything you wished for, anywhere in the world, right now. What and where would it be?" I ask Carl quietly after a while, wanting to break the tense quiet.<br>Carl glances at me, raising his brow and letting his head roll back slightly as he thinks. "Uh... The Grand Canyon I guess, umm... eating some canned corn," Carl answers.  
>I grin at him, amused by his permanent craving for that stuff as I remember him constantly enthusing about sweet corn back at The Prison. "Why canned, why not fresh corn on the cob?" I ask.<br>"Oh," Carl mutters as if he had forgotten that the fresh type of food even excised. **_I bet he did. It's pretty easy to forget fresh vegetables out here._** "Then yeah, corn on the cob instead," he corrects himself. "What about you?"  
>"Easy. In my bedroom back in Virginia. Stuffing my face with a big can of chocolate pudding... and I'd eat <em>all<em> one-hundred-and-twelve ounces to myself," I joke, earning a stifled snicker from the teenager.  
>"I knew you were gonna say that," he mumbles in truthful jest, shaking his head as he grins down at his feet.<br>"So," I begin, nudging his forearm, "why The Grand Canyon?"  
>Carl shrugs and purses his lips. "Not really sure," he says, lifting his eyes to look into mine. "When I was a baby Mom an' Dad tried to take a trip there."<br>"Tried?" I question, tilting my head in curiosity.  
>"I was sick on our journey there an' never made it. An' I kinda promised Sophia we'd go one day, too. But, you know... that never happened," he trails off slightly into his thoughts before looking back at me and smiling a little. "It'd jus' be cool to actually do it, one day... you know? I'm, uh, gettin' kinda tired of empty promises."<br>I nod, smiling empathetically at him. "One day," I say, leaving the statement to float in the air, neither making a promise or condemning the idea.  
>We will go, <em>one day<em>.  
>If we ever have the chance, <em>one day<em>.  
>If the circumstances ever go in our favour, <em>one<em> _day_.  
>Hopefully...<em>one<em> _day_.  
>Carl holds my gaze for a moment, before gently bumping my shoulder with his as we keep walking. I smile, before glancing over his shoulder at Michonne. "What about you?" I ask her. "Anywhere in the world, eating anything you want."<br>She grins, looking upwards to the sky as she thinks about her answer, but just as she dips her head to share with us we all suddenly startle as a brain rattling scream pierces through the woods.

"HELP...! HELP, ANYBODY! HELP...! HELP!"

My hand instantly goes to my machete, wrapping my fingers around the red handle as I search for the source of the screaming with my eyes. Only hearing the desperate cries stumbling over themselves to get to us.  
>"Dad, c'mon," Carl says, taking out his gun and glancing to his father. "C'mon!" he insists again desperately when Rick doesn't immediately compile.<br>The man tenses his mouth, reluctant to put his family in any more danger than we are in already.  
>"Come on!" Carl urges one more time, fumbling on the spot in his desperation to help the screaming stranger.<br>Rick finally relents and Carl spins on his heel to run in the direction of the screaming, grabbing my free wrist for a moment as I run with him and letting go once he knows that I am coming with him. Everyone follows, rushing to rescue the hysterical cries as Carl leads the way.  
>We crash through the trees, swatting away branches and bushes until we get to the ciaos. Two walkers have cornered a man. He splays himself on top of a large rock to get away from them but one is grabbing at his ankle, shoving him to it's mouth, mere moments away from taking a chunk out of his flesh.<p>

**BANG!**

The first walker goes down with Carl's bullet, and Carol sprints forward and takes out the second. But I can hear the third lurker and I search with my eyes and ears for it, adrenaline surging through me and aiding my senses as I pin point where the thing is hunting from.  
>And then I see it emerge around the rock, it's wiry beard jolting as it snaps its jaw for Carol. Without hesitating, I lunge for it and drive my machete through it's skull with a wet <em>THWACK<em>, before letting the dead walker drop to the floor where it belongs.  
>I instinctively look around to everyone, visually making sure that they are unharmed before walking over to Carl and Rick again. I nod to them and they nod back, pursing their lips with a mixture of relief and concern. "Clear. Keep watch," Rick commands.<br>We all hear the stranger whimpering and take short glances up at him. I take a moment to watch the man as he cowers on top of the boulder. He is dressed in a black suit with one of those white neck ties that Fathers of The Church wear. I'm not terribly religious, so I don't know what they're called but I can see that he is, or is at least is supposed to be, dressed for that role.  
>He winces as he looks at the carnage around him, shaking violently with terror.<br>"C'mon down," Rick encourages, motioning the stranger from his perch.  
>Shakily, the man climbs down, glancing uneasily around at all of us. His eyes catch mine for a moment and without meaning to do so, I avert my gaze. I had forgotten how shy I was before all of this. I haven't actually spoken to Tara, Abraham, Rosita or Eugene since I was briefly introduced to them yesterday, but I know everyone else like family so any shyness around them has gone completely by now.<br>"Are you okay?" Rick asks the man.  
>The stranger sways slightly for a moment and I watch as he tries to answer, but before he can he holds his finger up for us all to wait a moment and then doubles over, throwing up into the dead leaves and dew soaked earth. Carl turns away, glancing uncomfortably at me as he stifles his groan of repulse. I purse my lips and hold back my grimace, hearing the man continue to retch up his food.<strong><em>Hey, look...<em>** **_there's still someone in the world with a weaker stomach than you, Oliver._**  
>The man turns to us again, arching his brow as he sniffs and tries to compose himself. "Sorry," he apologises as he tries not to gag again. "Yes," he answers Rick's previous question. "Thank you... I'm Gabriel."<br>"Do you have any weapons on you?" Rick asks without introducing himself.  
>Gabriel sort of retches a laugh that only emphasises how afraid he is, and I see Carl curve his lips into a friendly smile at the man to encourage him. <strong><em>I think you can rely on Carl to do the socialising from now on then.<em>** _Yeah, I think that'll have to be the case._ **_Or you can_** **_just_** **_grow a pair of your own._**  
>"Do I look like I would have any weapons?" Gabriel answers when none of us verbally respond to his previous body language.<br>"We don't give too short an' curlies what it looks like," Abraham interjects irritably.  
>"I have no weapons of any kind," Gabriel says. "The word of God is the only protection I need."<br>"Sure didn't look like it," Daryl says gruffly what all of us are thinking.  
>Gabriel smiles at him, the fear still visible in his expression. "I called for help," he makes his case, looking around to all of us again and smiling with his brow arched. "Help came," he finishes.<br>My shyness gets the better of me again and I unintentionally look away when his eyes scan over mine.  
>There is a long awkward pause, in which Gabriel begins to grow desperate to break. "Do you, uh..." he begins timidly, looking to Rick, "have any food...? Whatever, uh, I had left has jus' hit the ground," he swallows as he looks at the pool of his vomit by his black shoes.<br>I remember the pecans that are still in my pocket and I take them out, discreetly pushing them into Carl's open hand as it hangs loosely beside him. His fingers close around mine, at first not realising what I am doing and instinctively trying to hold my hand, "N-no - pecans," I whisper so that only he hears, and he feels the hard ripples of the nut surface and takes them from me. I see him smirk, amused as he becomes aware of my social flaw and I resist the urge to mutter for him to bite me and roll my eyes at him instead.  
>"We've got some pecans," Carl addresses Gabriel, reaching forward to give them over.<br>Gabriel takes them with shaking hands, "Thank you," he says gratefully. He glances over at the rest of us, his eyes lingering over Judith as a smile spreads over his lips. "That's a beautiful child." None of us say anything, and Gabriel's words hang in the air for a moment as he smiles at us waiting for a reply, but when he finally realises that we won't be giving him one, he speaks again. "Do you have a camp?"  
>"No," Rick answers instantly, narrowing his eyes at him. "Do you?"<br>Gabriel hesitates to answer, and when he does, his eyes flicker around to all of us as if he is searching for reassurance or hospitality, but we have none for him, we barely have enough for ourselves. "A church," he says.  
>"Hold your hands above your head," Rick commands, his tone that of a man who doesn't want his time wasted.<br>Gabriel does as he is told, complying to Rick as he frisks him.  
>"How many walkers have you killed?" Rick asks, patting down his sides and arms and legs.<br>"Uh, n-... not any, actually," Gabriel answers, jolting slightly from Ricks roughness.  
>"Turn around," the former cop grumbles, tugging Gabriel to stand with his back to us to continue his search. "How many people've you killed?"<br>"None," Gabriel answers, his brow arching as he slowly is allowed to face his interrogator again, staring in fear at him yet maintaining his shaky smile.  
>Rick glares back, forcing Gabriel to take this seriously. "Why?"<br>"Because The Lord abhors violence."  
><strong><em>Really? Well where has<em>** **_'The Lord'_** **_been throughout all of this?_**  
>Rick stares at the man, probably thinking the same thing as me. His patience begins to dwindle and he steps closer to intimidate Gabriel. "What've you done?" he growls.<br>Gabriel furrows his brow, silently pleading his innocence. But not even I believe him on that.  
>"We've all done something," Rick insists truthfully, taking the words from my mind.<br>"I'm a Sinner," Gabriel answers without answering. "I sin almost every day. But those sins; I confess them to God... not strangers."  
>"You said you had a church," Michonne states, trying to keep up the lessening smootheness of the conversation.<br>Gabriel turns to her and gives her a shaky nod. "Yes. It's not far from here. I have little food left but you're welcome to join me for a while to rest under The Lords watch," he says, smiling at us all.  
>Rick takes a moment, but finally he introduces himself and all of us to Gabriel, accepting his invitation.<br>"Lead the way, Father," Daryl muses, remaining sceptical as he motions the man to guide us.

We all follow Father Gabriel, heading towards what I can only hope is nearer the outskirts of the woods and almost craving to feel a hard surface under my hiking boots again.  
>"Hey," Rick addressed Father Gabriel. "Earlier, were you watchin' us?"<br>"I keep to myself," he answers, shaking his head. "Nower days, people are just as dangerous as the dead, don't you think?"  
>"No," Rick answers blankly.<br>"People're worse," Daryl adds.  
>I exchange a glance with Carl, both of us silently agreeing with Daryl's statement.<br>"Well I wasn't watching you," Gabriel defends himself. "I haven't been beyond the stream near my church more than a few times since it all started - that was the furthest I've gone before today."  
><strong><em>Really? It's been a year and a half since the outbreak and he's barely left his church before? <em>**_That isn't possible... how did he find food?_ **_Exactly, and how did he go all this time alone without taking any walkers down?_** **_Without killing...?_** **_No one is that fortunate..._** _Especially not any more._  
>"Or maybe I'm lying," Gabriel says sarcastically, trying and ease our tense scepticism. No one laughs, but he doesn't take the hint. "Maybe I'm lying about everything and there's no church at all... maybe I'm leading you into a trap so I can steal all your <em>squirrels<em>..."  
>I, along with every one else, glare at him. I'm fairly sure that he is joking, and maybe before all of this I would have laughed along with him. But people just don't joke about that sort of stuff any more and 'Father Gabriel'her needs to learn that, and fast, especially if he wants to keep his pulse.<br>Gabriel notices the thick tension as we circle around him, glaring at his words as he finally pipes the fuck down, staring at us with his brow arching in worry. "Members of my flock had, often told me that my sense of humour... leaves much to be desired," he says weakly as some sort of strange apology.  
>"Yeah, it does," Daryl mutters.<br>Gabriel averts his eyes, intimidated by us as he turns and continues walking again, though not before clumsily walking into a tree branch and failing to dodge it. I hold back my sudden smirk, feeling my mood lifted slightly by the strange person as I look at Carl, reminded of how clumsy he can be sometimes, too. And I am glad to see a smirk fighting its way across his own full lips despite how much he is trying to resist it. He cocks an eyebrow at me, glancing at me through his eye lashes, flirtatiously giving me a 'I'm not that clumsy' look and I look away before I blush.  
>We walk for a few minutes, finding a deserted dirt track that once upon a time before The Apocalypse we would have been able to see the cement and road under it, but is now coated in a thick layer of earth and decaying leaves. But I'm not complaining, I am just happy that I can walk on solid ground again out of those woods and off those dreaded tracks.<br>We spot the church ahead, just like Father Gabriel said. Carl breaks away from me and goes to Tyreese, holding his arms out for his sister. Tyreese smiles and hands Judith over, hoisting his rifle more securely over his shoulder as Carl comes back over to me with a sleeping Judith in his arms. I stroke her light hair, admiring her for a moment as she sleeps with her chubby cheeks squishing against her brother's shoulder.  
>We go through the open lot, past a sign that says:<p>

"ST. SARAH'S CHURCH  
>EPISCOPAL"<p>

There is a loose wooden fence surrounding the property that separates the lot from the tree line, and there's a small graveyard just to The Churches' right with tall trees dotted all around. I spot a white church bus poking its bonnet around the back of The Church, too. The Church is small and cosy looking, situated right in the centre of the lot. It kinda reminds me of a place in a comic I read once that I can't remember the name of, and by Carl's expression I can tell that he is thinking the same thing.  
>"Hold up," Rick says as we approach The Church, following Gabriel up the steps and signalling us to stay where we are. "Can we take a look around first? We jus' wanna hold onto our squirrels."<br>I would laugh if it was a different circumstance. But instead I watch as Father Gabriel hands his keys over into Rick's open palm.  
>Rick glances at us, motioning Michonne, Daryl, Carol, Glenn and me into The Church with him. I wasn't expecting him to ask me to go in as well, but I guess that I am of a little more use to the group than I first thought. So I take out my glock and accompany the five of them into The Church, leaving Father Gabriel at the door, Abraham, Rosita, Tyreese, Bob and Sasha to check out the outside compound, and Carl, Judith, Tara and Eugene to wait outside.<br>I keep my glock aimed wherever my eyes go, walking quietly around the inside of The Church past rows and rows of benches, with those cushions that people would use to kneel on to pray and a few bibles dotted around on the seats. The place is clean, with no dust or blood or rot in sight. It smells musky and the air is thick, evidence that Gabriel has had to live in here alone for over a year, but he seems to have done well to air the place out a little.  
>I go to a door on the right side of the room and Carol follows me, keeping her rifle trained at the mahogany wooden surface and ready to pull the trigger if someone or something leaps out on us.<br>I close my fist around the circular, smooth door knob and twist it, pushing it open and quickly taking aim.  
>Nothing.<br>So we step into the room. It looks kind of like an office, or a 'Sacristy' I think it's called; the place in churches where holy objects and special clothes for ceremonies are kept. **_And you say you don't know anything about religion._** _I don't think it is a Sacristy anyway though, it looks too used and run down._  
>Carol goes to the cluttered desk, scoping over the odd objects on it, religious ornaments and decorations, an old telephone, and then flipping through a note book. I view an art piece on the wall. It's a hanging sculpture picture of The Last Supper.<br>Daryl comes into the room, looking around and nosing at some of the fancy garbs before joining me in examining the art work. I glance at him, pursing my lips and then motioning my head out of the room for me to leave. He steps back to let me pass, nodding to me as I head out into the chapel again, leaving him and Carol inside.  
>I spot Rick as he walks down the isle toward the back of the chapel. He motions me over with his hand and I hurry toward him, gripping my glock as we both head towards the small, open area that is separated by a railing. There is a table in the middle with a few unlit candles and holy ornaments on it, but what catches our attention is the stacks of opened cans of food neatly ordered against the wall. We crouch down to look past the table, seeing more empty cans layered against the wall under the coloured glass window. <strong><em>This is weird...<em>** _I know._ _There's something not adding up. Something corrupt about all of this._ **_Well, whatever it could be -if it could be- I'm betting Gabriel isn't telling us the full story._** _Is anybody anymore? I mean, like Rick said; we've all done something..._ **_Yeah, I guess. _**_So it doesn't necessarily make him a bad guy?_ **_Not yet anyway. But_** **_I'm not taking any chances...something'll have to come up about it soon._**  
>Rick and I stand up straight again, exchanging furrowed brows with each other as we silently accept Gabriel's story - the majority of it at least.<br>Rick turns around and whistles to the others, and they all emerge from the rooms they were searching in, finding nothing out of the ordinary. So we head back outside to everyone, just as Sasha, Bob, Abraham and Rosita meet us from wherever they were searching with the same findings.  
>"I spent <em>months<em> here without stepping out the front door, if you found someone inside," Father Gabriel begins as we all walk past him to our friends, "well, it would've been surprising."  
>I narrow my eyes at him as I stand with Carl, beginning to get a little irritated by his wearing humour.<br>"Thanks for this," Carl says gratefully, gently rocking Judith in his arms.  
>Gabriel smiles and nods at the teenager. I purse my lips into something like a smile, trying to mimic Carl's unfamiliar friendliness to the stranger and quite frankly, damn well surprised by it. <em>Jesus, when has Carl Grimes been so optimistic?!<em> **_I don't know... but two weeks can change a person... you know that too well._** _Yeah... but unlike with me, his change seems to have been for the better._  
>Rick glances at his son, just as befuddled by his behaviour as I am, and Carl recoils ever so slightly, taking the hint to stay quiet.<br>"We found a short bus out back," Abraham tells Rick. "It don't run, but I bet we could fix that in less than a day or two. And Father here says he doesn't want it... Looks like we found ourselves some transport."  
>Rick doesn't respond, keeping his back to the man and his attention on Judith while he thinks about what Abraham is getting at, and what he has been discreetly getting at ever since I met him.<br>"You understand what's at stake here, right?" he insists when Rick takes too long to respond.  
>"Yes I do," Rick confirms.<br>I exchange a confused glance with Carl, having no idea what Abraham is talking about. But Carl shakes his head ever so slightly, silently telling me to let it go for now.  
>"Now that we can take a breath-" Michonne begins, raising her brow incredulously to Abraham.<br>"We take a breath – we slow down... shit inevitable goes down," Abraham interrupts impatiently, keeping his expression hard as he keeps his composure.  
>"We need supplies," Michonne argues, using that familiar passive aggressiveness I am so used to from her, "no matter what we do next."<br>"That's right," Rick seconds her dryly. "Water. Food. Ammunition." He walks up the steps and heads into the building, ending his conversation with Abraham and as I follow with Carl and Michonne, and I try not to look at the Sargent as his cheeks grow red from his frustration.  
>"Short bus ain't goin' no where. I'll bring you back some baked beans," Daryl adds to Abraham's irritation.<br>Rick takes Judith from Carl and I take a seat on one of the benches, relaxing my legs after walking so much and feeling the room sway as the lactic acid in my muscles begin to take affect. Carl sits beside me, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. "I'm so tired," he mumbles.  
>I sigh and rub circles into his back. "Maybe we can stay here for a little while to <em>rest under The Lord's watch<em>," I muse.  
>Carl nods, "Gabriel seems okay," he says, leaning up again to look at me.<br>I curve my lips into a smile, taking my hand back and resting it in my lap. "Hopefully," I say, neither agreeing or disagreeing with him.  
>"We're gonna go take a look around the local neighbourhood," Glenn says, getting his gear ready with Maggie and Tara, "we'll stay nearby. There's suppose to be a gun store around somewhere. We'll find it."<br>Rick nods, "Be back before sun down."  
>Glenn nods, before heading out of The Church with Maggie and Tara.<br>"Rosita an' I're gonna go try an' repair the bus, we'll be out back," Abraham informs us.  
>"I'll go with you – help you out with the mechanics," Eugene volunteers, speaking for the first time since I met him. <em>I'm not sure why, but I was kind of expecting him to have a Southern accent.<em> **_Maybe it's the mullet._**  
>They leave through the back door. I can still see the mild irritation on Abraham's expression. I turn to Carl, deciding that now is as good a time as any for an explanation to all of their behaviour, seeing that the teenager has come to the same conclusion also.<br>He looks at me and lets a smile pull at the corner of his mouth, "They wanna go to Washington," he informs me. "I guess they're not willing to 'take a breath' until they do."  
>"Hm," I mumble a reply, rubbing my tired eyes and thinking about how so very much I desperately want to 'take a breath' for a while, honestly finding it hard to imagine how Abraham and Rosita and Eugene could be so set on Washington anyway. "I jus' hope it doesn't cause any problems if your dad keeps avoiding it like he is," I add.<br>"Abraham's jus' gonna have to make do with staying here for a few days," Carl says. "We can't always be on the run."

**Carl's POV**

Oliver nods, but then his brow furrows in confusion. "Why does he want to go to Washington so much? It seems pretty important, but you're all kind of... putting it off, you know? And, what's with Eugene? He's hardly said a thing since I met him."  
>I smirk, realising that Oliver hasn't been properly filled in about this subject yet, and quite frankly I'm pretty amused by his befuddlement, but then I straighten my face and answer him. "Well, it's not that we aren't taking him seriously. It's just, it's all he an' Rosita an' Eugene ever talk about. It's kinda turned into a broken record, but, uh, we respect that they're on a mission. Michonne an' Dad are jus' a little reluctant right now. But, I believe them... I heard what Eugene said in the train freight, and I think they can really save the world."<br>Oliver's eyes widen, stopping my sentence. But my poor explaining has only increased his confusion rather than eased it.  
>"Oh, uh, right. The other part," I continue. "That's what they're so desperate to do in Washington. Eugene is a scientist. He knows the cure for the walkers."<br>Oliver keeps staring at me and I can almost see his mind reeling at such a possibility. "D.C? Or, Washington _Washington_?" he asks.  
>"D.C." I answer, remembering that Oliver's old home was in a town a few miles away from there and wondering if that is why he asked. But instead of voicing my question I stay quiet, choosing to leave that subject alone.<br>Oliver nods. "How? How would he cure it, I mean," Oliver asks finally.  
>My eyes shift between him and the floor, my ego a little deflated by the fact that I don't really know the answer to his question. "Well, I'm not sure... he did explain it, kind of... uh, but I didn't really understand. Somethin' about flippin' a switch? I think," I admit to him.<br>Oliver nods, dipping his head as a frown works its way across his brow. I know that he is thinking that it all sounds too good to be true.  
>"What do you think?" I ask anyway.<br>Oliver looks at me and I squint my eyes slightly, silently willing him to believe it all as much as I do, but I know he doesn't. "I think that if it is true then we should go with them," he tells me. "But if it's not... then I'm gonna be pretty damn fucked off," he says in jest, muttering the last part so that only I hear him.  
>I smirk at his language, inwardly grateful that Oliver is at least entertaining the idea of a cure. I feel my brow arching, grinning at him incredulously, "You're not allowed to cuss in church, Oliver," I whisper, half heartedly scolding him.<br>Oliver chuckles as I lift my hand to the back of his neck, pulling him a little closer to gently press our foreheads together. I grin, secretly fantasising about the idea of kissing in church, too. But I go against it seeing as it isn't only us in here right now. But Oliver seems to know what I am thinking because he chuckles, bringing his hand to my neck, returning my affectionate gesture before pulling away and grinning at me, resisting his own fantasy as well.  
>"How'd you survive here for so long?" Dad asks Gabriel, pulling Oliver and I back into reality. I look up to him and he glances over at us, subtly taking in our discreet display of affection to which he raises his brow slightly, before looking back to Gabriel without giving much more thought to us. "Where did your supplies come from?"<br>My sister's eyes lock onto mine and she holds out her hand for me, silently asking my for attention. I stroke my thumb just below Oliver's ear before moving away and standing up, walking over to Dad to retrieve the baby.  
>"Luck," Father Gabriel answers Dad. "Our Annual Canned Food Drive. Things fell apart right after we finished it. It's just me," he explains solemnly as I take Judith from Dad, mumbling her name as I coo to her before going back over to sit beside Oliver. "The food lasted a long time, an', then I started scavenging. I've cleaned out every place nearby... except for one."<br>"What kept you from it?" Dad asks, rifle in hand.  
>"It's overrun."<br>"How many?"  
>"A dozen or so," Gabriel answers, "maybe more."<br>"We can handle a dozen," Dad says confidently.  
>"Bob an' I'll go with you," Sasha volunteers as she walks over to him. "Tyreese should stay here. Help keep Judith safe."<br>"That'd be okay?" Dad asks Tyreese as he smiles modestly at the floor.  
>"Sure," he confirms happily, looking up to us. "You ever need me to watch 'er – need anything for her, I'm right here."<br>"I'm grateful for it," my father thanks as he walks up to him, "an' everything else."  
>Tyreese nods.<br>"I'll draw you a map," Gabriel says, walking to the end of the bench Oliver, Judith and I are sat on and going to grab a piece of scrap paper left on the seat.  
>"You don't need to," Dad stops him, "you're comin' with us."<br>Gabriel holds his gaze, a fearful smile working its way across his mouth, "I'm not gonna be of any help. I mean, you saw me... I'm no good around those things."  
>"You're comin' with us," Dad orders, his hoarse and stern voice putting the priest in his place.<br>Gabriel grits his teeth and nods.

**Notes**

I do not mean to offend anyone by some of the insensitive things that are said in this chapter on the subject of religion. I am just sticking to what their characters would think, because lets face it, in such a dismal world, it must be fairly easy to lose one's faith, huh? :)

Also, I wanted to show how socially awkward Oliver really is. And I thought the pecan thing was cute. But don't worry, Oliver will 'grow a pair' haha XD

Preview: I'm not saying much about the next chapter, other than its title is "Making Out In Church" :) And I am so excited to let you finally read it haha!  
>Don't forget to leave your thoughts of this chappy in the reviews x :)<p>

PS. PS. PS! I am thinking of adding a new story. Basically based off of this story showing random points in Oliver's past. From before The Outbreak to where he is now :D

**Stale M&M's: The Stories of Oliver's Past**

The first chapter is up and I would love it if you could check it out in my profile. It's a short chapter from The Prison Era, when Patrick was still alive and it's got a few budding cute crush moments between Oliver and Carl.

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	35. Chapter 35 Making Out In Church

**westerlo4 **I know. I don't understand how I have written all of this and more in less than 5 months! Crazy. Thanks!

**inazumahunter **Yeah, a whole 30 chapters ago Oliver got hit by _Butterfly Lion. _Talk about holding a grudge! hha, thanks for your amazing support!

**The Box **Thank you! It really means a lot that you are taking the time to read this, especially since you don't watch the show that much! LOVE YOU! You're amazing! And yes, thanks for the suggestion. I got a D in English overall *blushes with shame* so I am only writing this with what I have picked up by reading LOTS of books. So thanks for that, I do tend to over describe things. XX thank you!

**mks 12 98 **I know, I am terrible *evil laugh* Making out in church, grr, bad me... but... let's just say... Oliver and Carl find a loop hole...

**Oliver's POV**

Gabriel was... reluctant. To say the least. But torn between his fear for The Outside and his fear for Mr Grimes... well, it's pretty easy to guess which he found more intimidating.  
>"Can I have her?" I ask Carl.<br>"Yep," he says, handing his sister over.  
>I haven't held Judith in a day, and after so long on the road to bond and care for the Almost-Toddling-Terror, I'm kind of getting withdrawal symptoms. I grin a her as she reaches for my beanie hat, rambling in her familiar baby talk. I stand up and walk Judith around the chapel a little, showing her the coloured glass windows and all the pictures in them.<br>"Oliver," I hear Rick call to me a few minutes later and I turn to face him. He's stood with Carl in the centre isle and he beckons me over with his chin.  
>I walk towards him. "Everything okay?" I ask, pulling at my beanie with my free hand.<br>"Yeah," Rick says as he takes my shoulder, motioning me to sit as Carl takes a seat on the bench behind me, "Listen," he tells us quietly, kneeling in front of both of us in the isle.  
>I put Judith in the basket Daryl had found in the second office. Then once she is comfortable, I turn to focus of Rick.<br>"I don't trust this guy." He's talking about Gabriel, who currently is somewhere collecting his things for the run.  
>I nod in agreement, but Carl shifts his gaze between me and his father, furrowing his brow, "Why?" he questions us.<br>Rick pauses as he takes in Carl's question, just as taken back by it as I am. "Why do _you_ trust 'im?" he asks his son.  
>Carl glances at me for a moment and lets out a short breath before looking back to his dad. "Everybody can't be bad," he answers.<br>One side of Rick's lip flickers the start of a smile, but he dips his head again, determined to get to the point of his discussion. "Well," he draws in a breath, "I don't trust this guy. That's why I'm bringin' 'im with me... but he could have friends."  
>I almost wince as Rick's words remind me of The Claimers, worry striking my heart at the thought of Gabriel having 'friends' like them...<br>"So I need you to stay alert. Both of you," Rick says, bringing my mind back to focus again. "Help Tyreese protect Judith, okay?"  
>Carl and I nod in understanding.<br>"Yeah," he holds our eye contact individually. "Now, I need you to hear, what I'm about to say."  
>"Okay," Carl says and Rick glances at me for my confirmation.<br>"Yes, Sir," I nod once.  
>Rick shifts his gaze between us, his forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows stay arched in his intensity. "You. Are. Not. Safe," he tells us. "No matter how many people're around. Or how <em>clear<em> the area looks. No matter what anyone says. No matter what you think," he gestures to his mind and then to ours, squinting gravely at us. "You are not safe," he repeats slowly, holding Carl's eye contact and then doing the same to me. "It only takes one second. One second... an' it's over... Never let your guard down. Never... I want you both to promise me."  
>"Promise," Carl and I whisper at the same time.<br>"Okay," Rick finalises, satisfied as he stands up and goes to walk away.  
>"Dad," Carl stops him suddenly, standing and leaning on the back of my bench as Rick turns and walks back over to him. I watch as the younger Grimes takes a deep breath. "You're right; we are strong. All of us are..." Carl pauses, and I furrow my brow as I try to figure out where he is going with this, giving Judith my hand to play with when she begins to fidget a little. "But, w-we're strong enough that we can still help people. And we can handle ourselves if things go wrong, an'... we're strong enough that we don't have to be afraid... an' we don't have to hide."<br>I take a deep breath, almost overwhelmed by Carl's words as I feel myself become almost completely comforted by them.  
>"Well he's hiding something," Rick says, snapping the rationality back into me.<br>Carl nods, dropping his gaze to the floor for a moment. "I'll stay safe, Dad," he says surely, looking at him again. Then, with a subtle flick of his index finger to gesture to me, he adds a reassuring "We both will," to the end of his promise.  
>Rick nods, lifting his hand to the crook of Carl's neck and gently squeezing, before nodding to me and then turning and walking over to the others.<br>Judith grips my hand in both of hers, using her index fingers to try and pick at my thumb nail. But the teenage Grimes continues to watch after his father, looking as though he is troubled by something, so I rest my free hand on his as he grips the back of my bench.  
>He looks at me and moves one side of his mouth into something that is suppose to be a smile, and I run my thumb over the back of his scratched wrist. He relaxes a little under my palm and then moves around the bench to sit beside me, arching his brow slightly as he holds my eye contact.<br>"Do you think I'm the most naive idiot in the world?" he asks me, scrunching up his mouth and nose a little in his lack of confidence.  
>"No," I shake my head, but then I stop and do something that could be kind of a nod, but then I shake my head again. "Uh. Not naive, just... hopeful and optimistic. It's kinda refreshing really," I tell him truthfully.<br>Carl purses his lips, clearly not reassured.  
>"Do you know who you remind me of?" I ask him, realising that he needs more reassurance from me even if he doesn't ask for it.<br>Carl furrows his brow a little and shakes his head, waiting for me to tell him.  
>"Hershel," I say.<br>Carl blinks, staring at me as he tries not to look uncomfortable, gently resting his hand on his sisters head. "Hershel?" he asks, squinting in his confusion.  
>I nod.<br>"Erm. Gee... uh, thanks? I guess."  
>I purse my lips, watching as he takes his hand from Judith to rest it on his lap, a troubled frown on his face as he stares into the back of the bench in front. <em>Oh...<em> **_Perhaps comparing your boyfriend to an old man who he considered like a grandfather and had the horror of watching get decapitated, isn't exactly the most appropriate thing to do, Oliver..._** _No, no. I didn't mean it like that. And, Hershel was so much more than that. So much more._  
>"I mean, you're good, Carl," I begin, thinking hard about what I am trying to get at here. "You've seen and gone through so much since all of this started, but you still have hope. You've come back from it, just like you were so afraid of not being able to do. But you've done it, just like I told you you would. Hershel saw it, too... And, it's like you've sort of taken on his faith. Maybe not exactly, but you still believe in people. You still believe in finding the Silver Lining. After all of this... You're kinda like our own Moral Compass," I smile at him, pleasantly surprised by myself for thinking of all that on the spot to be honest. "You're a good man, Carl," I tell him truthfully. "Just like Hershel was."<br>Carl's cheeks blush from his modesty, leaning forward to comfortably rest his forehead on mine. "Thanks," he mutters, smiling when Judith gargles beside us, reaching over to me and pulling at my dirty, flannel sleeve.  
>"You're welcome," I whisper to him, quickly planting a kiss on his cheek a little closer to his lips than I originally meant it to be, "It's true."<p>

**Carl's POV**

_~ A Little While Later ~_

Once Bob had managed to convince Father Gabriel out of his office, and Sasha, Michonne and Dad had gathered everything that they would need for the run, the five leave together, guided by Gabriel's knowledge of the surrounding area. Leaving Abraham, Rosita and Eugene outside working on fixing the bus, Carol and Daryl out getting some more water and Tyreese, Oliver, Judith and I in The Church.  
>"I'm gonna take a look around outside," I tell Tyreese.<br>He nods, holding his arms out as I hand Judith over to him. "Stay around The Church where the others can see you. Don't leave the property, alright?"  
>"We won't," I promise, turning to Oliver and seeing him already standing to accompany me.<br>He walks past me in the direction of the exit, "Let's go," he chirps, hooking my wrist with his fingers and pulling me to walk with him.  
>We go around The Church together and at some point Oliver's hand is no longer just loosely holding my wrist, but now comfortably entwined with my extremity, tangling our fingers together like vine stalks as we walk.<br>We can hear the others as they tend to The Church bus around the back, so we go the other way and take a look around the other side of the building compound instead.  
>I scan the tree line, keeping alert like Dad told me to and Oliver does the same. Around the edge of the building there are odd, overgrown shrubs scattered and growing against the wall. Oliver takes a seat by one, crossing his legs and leaning against the wood-panel wall in the shade of the searing Georgian day.<br>I sit cross legged beside him, sandwiched between him and another shrub to my left, awkwardly pushing the scratchy branches out of the way when they jab against my neck. Eventually I relent, compromising by just moving a little closer to Oliver to make more room between me and the damned plant.  
>His hand links with mine again, and I lean into him, relaxing into his lanky, teenage form and smiling as the side of my chest moulds to the subtle bend of his arm. He is oddly quiet. I mean, Oliver has never been one for much conversation when there doesn't need to be, another thing I like in him, but he seems a little distant. As if he is mulling something important over in his mind. Though, figuring it is best I leave him to think for a moment until he is ready to share, I don't interrupt his thoughts.<br>We sit like this for a long time, silently scanning the area and hearing the quiet yet irritated mumbling coming from Abraham, Rosita and Eugene, bickering slightly as they tend to the vehicle, though, their close knit bond is apparent as they exchange with each other. I keep my eyes trained on the tree line and when I see nothing but trees, I look to the road to our right, seeing the leaf littered road that my father took with the others earlier for the food bank.  
>But then...<p>

"Lizzie killed Mika."

Oliver speaks, finally deciding to share his thoughts.  
>I keep staring at the road, silently processing what I have just heard as Oliver stares in vehemence down at a weed in front of him. Until slowly, I turn my head and look at him, furrowing my brow and staring intensely into his sad eyes as they stay trained on the floor.<br>"W-what?" I ask, wondering if I had even heard him right.  
>Oliver's whole body visibly tenses and he swallows the rock in his throat, resisting the urge to wince. It takes a while for him to answer and it almost hurts to see him so uncomfortable and devastated, but he manages.<br>"I'm... I'm going to tell you... everything... f-from the start," Oliver says seriously, aching his brow and wrinkling his forehead under his fringe and beanie, still not looking at me. "But... I-I need to you stay quiet. I need you to just listen." He finally lifts his gaze, staring deep into my eyes. "Carl? C-can you do that for me?"  
>I hold his eye contact, feeling my heart thump wildly in my chest. Finally I nod, making my silent promise.<br>Oliver purses his lips and swallows. "The day I lost you," he begins, starting at the very beginning of his story, his voice level and clear and refusing to let his emotion show, "I escaped from the house on my own... I got out... A man – the same man that grabbed you - he tried to... claim, me. He forced me into the utility room... and-"  
>My breath hitches and I wince uncontrollably, shaking my head without meaning to, dread eating me whole as I am unable to bear hearing this. But then I stop myself, forcing myself to keep my promise.<br>Oliver pauses for a long time, taking a deep breath and shaking his head. "He didn't get me... He almost did. But he didn't... The guy who your dad killed, Lou, he came back. His walker was attacking the others... I thought it was Rick. I thought it was him, screaming... They left me, thinking they could finish what they started when they sorted Lou's walker out... But I got out through the back door. They didn't notice the key still in there."  
>All of the pieces fall into place in my mind; who Lou was, how Oliver escaped, why he wanted to know what the man who grabbed me looked like. And the most terrifying thing that I was scared of, knowing now that Oliver wasn't ripped of his innocence. I close my eyes, my body jolting slightly and overpowered by the relief, but I keep quiet, letting Oliver continue his story.<br>He strokes my hand in his, coaxing my eyes open again and when I oblige he begins talking again.  
>"When I was running," he continues, "I-I got to the train tracks... and I kept running... I ran until I couldn't anymore. Carol, Ty and Judy, they were there, they found me... But... it wasn't just them."<br>His brow arches for a moment, but he forces himself to settle and holds my eye contact.  
>"Mika and Lizzie. They got out, too. Escaped The Attack with Ty and Judy. And then they found Carol a few days later... They took care of me. And we kept walking along the tracks together to Terminus... I thought you were all dead. I thought you and Michonne would've gone back to those Claimers and."<br>He can't finish, but I can guess what he thought would've happened to us and I almost wince from the horrible scenario that could so easily have been a reality if Oliver hadn't done what he did. I am about to comfort him, take his hand and bring it to my lips to place a kiss on. But he shakes his head, desperate to tell me what he needs to say.  
>"We found a grove. Stayed there for a while. Three or four days... Mika and Lizzie and Judith. They were the only things that could make me happy - that didn't make me afraid. But... I didn't notice." He winces. "Lizzie... there was something... I-I don't know... but, she was doing things... Feeding the walkers and playing with them and zoning out of conversations. I-I didn't wanna believe that she was... messed up. So I didn't say anything. But I." His breath hitches and he curses under his breath. "I shouldv'e done something."<br>Oliver stops, scrunching his eyes shut in his guilt and I stay quiet like he needs me to, silently willing him to keep going. And after a moment he opens his eyes again and looks at me, charging his confidence with my gaze and I am all to willing to give him that comfort.  
>"Carol and Ty were out hunting," Oliver tells me, swallowing and he winces when he does. "Lizzie and Mika were outside with Judith... I went to find Carol and Ty because I found a shoe-box full of mice under mine and the girl's bed. Mika told me Lizzie was catching them for the walkers, and she didn't want me to tell. But I had to... So I went to find Carol and Ty... left the girls in The Grove with Judy," he says, glaring down at the floor. Angry... at himself I am afraid of. "I found them. Carol and Ty. But they were talking about something I didn't want to interrupt... so I went back." He shakes his head, his expression finally giving up its fight and contorting in remorse. "I should've... fuck - I could've saved her. I should've saved them <em>both!<em>"  
>Oliver becomes unhinged, his breathing quickens and I can feel his hands quivering slightly. But I stay quiet, keeping my promise and letting him vent until he can bring himself to explain.<br>"Lizzie stabbed her," he hisses through his teeth, his voice weakening, "and when Mika died in my arms - when I couldn't save her... Lizzie told me it was 'okay' – that... she 'didn't hurt her brain'. She wanted Mika to come back. And she wanted the same for Judith and me, and even herself. She didn't understand," Oliver tells me, pausing and holding his breath as he fights the emotions I can almost see scratching their way out of him. "Carol... sh-she had to make sure Mika didn't come back... and then... she had to." But he can't finish, so he changes his sentence. "We couldn't have Lizzie and Judith under the same roof."  
>I stare down at the floor, training my eyes at the same sprouting weed that Oliver is glaring at. I never particularly had any significant relationship with Lizzie or Mika. We just never had much in common. And after I caught them talking to the walkers at the fences it only made me more distant from the two siblings. It was strange and worrying, I knew that, but I never would have expected it to turn out like this. Things like that just don't happen... not even now. But I guess we were all wrong on that one.<br>I don't have words to console Oliver and I know that if I did they wouldn't make any difference, so I lift my hand to the back his neck, stroking my thumb over his skin there and gently pulling him closer. He rests his forehead on mine, a gesture that I have noticed we have been doing a lot lately.  
>Oliver holds my gaze, his eyes looking like beautiful, blurry, alien orbs this close. As if his brown and gold oracles are some kind of strange and perfect screw up played by God, like He had just decided to leave them like that because He liked the way His accident turned out.<br>That's when Oliver folds into me, though, refusing to cry as he moves his head to press it into the crook of my neck, finalising my view of those golden splinters in his gaze. I respond by gripping the back of his neck just below his hair line, stroking my thumb against his skin and feeling the end of my nail graze over the edge of his beanie with each stroke.  
>"I killed another man... at Terminus," Oliver whispers. "He was shooting at us... I had to."<br>A wave of empathy washes over me and I kiss Oliver on the crook of his neck, the only place I can reach without moving him. I hold my lips to his skin, the slight dampness of it from the heat of the day coming into contact with my lips.  
>"Mika... she'd always tell me, that... 'everything turns out the way it's supposed to'," Oliver begins, wrapping his arms around my middle and resting them there. "I just, can't decide if it's turned out the right way or not."<br>I pull away to see him properly. "How d'you mean?" I ask quietly, sensing that Oliver is finished with his story now.  
>Oliver purses his lips and tenses his face a little, holding my gaze with a kind of carefulness that I have been seeing a lot lately in his expression. "Well, they died. And we left and got to Terminus because we didn't want to stay... If they had lived... we would still be at The Grove now and all of you would've died," he tells me. "It would have always been between you and the girls. And I hate having so little control over it... I hate how it's turned out. But I know that I couldn't... <em>wouldn't.<em>.. change it even if I had the chance. If I had to choose whether to save the girls or save you... I'd choose you. And that makes me a terrible person for even thinking like that... It makes me a monster."  
>"It doesn't make you a monster, Oliver," I whisper to him. "It makes you human. Oliver, it's done. And you <em>can't<em> change any of it... It wasn't up to you... _It happened_... You have to move on now. You have to _live_... before the guilt eats you whole."  
>Oliver closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "You sound like Carol now, too," he says, and I am glad to hear the small amount of jest behind his words.<br>I smile and lift my brow, both incredulously and sympathetically.  
>He strokes my cheek with his thumb before pulling away and standing up. "Come on, Man. Let's look around a little more," he suggests solemnly, holding his hand out to pull me to stand up with him.<br>We walk around The Church, coming to the corner that Abraham, Rosita and Eugene are still repairing the bus together at. Oliver holds his hand out to stop me from being seen by them and then pokes his head around the corner to make sure they didn't hear or see us.  
>Satisfied, he steps back to me, holding my eye contact for a long moment and I watch in awe as the golden flecks in his brown irises glisten in the sun, receding as his pupils dilate a little and thinking nothing other than if he is doing it on purpose, with those coffee eyes of his, hypnotising me.<br>"When I heard Carol and Ty talking that day," he begins, coaxing me from my thoughts, "while they were hunting. They said that everyone who we've lost, everyone who's dead, everyone haunting us... might really just be teaching us. Reminding us, so that we can live with what we have to do."  
>I nod and swallow, understanding and relating to what he means from my experiences with Mom and Dale and Shane and the kid I shot, as for a long time I did, and still do sometimes, struggle with the way their memories haunt me. But I furrow my brow slightly in confusion to where Oliver is going with this.<br>"And you were right, earlier, I mean," he continues, slightly coyly. "We don't need to be afraid anymore. So... I'm not gonna be. It won't work all the time, because..." He pauses as he lets out a long sigh. "I know that I can't just forget everything that happened... but I'm gonna try to learn from it. For you, and, for our family."  
>I stare at him for a long time, feeling my heart swell in my chest. Our eyes dart between each others in a frenzy of blue and gold and brown and black. And there is something else. An energy of sorts, for lack of a better word to describe it, whirring between us in a wild, jagged, unpredictable way. Like a wild deer caught in a small space, captured and desperate to get out and be free.<br>I can feel the anticipation. The exhilarating anticipation. So strong that it makes me light headed and dizzy. I think I am nodding. But I can't be sure. My body feels static, like it is buzzing and moving... but not moving, or... maybe moving.  
>Though, I must have been nodding, because in the end it's Oliver who leans in first, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to mine like we both have wanted for so long.<br>He cups my cheeks in both of his warm hands, holding my face to him as our lips greet and idle with each other. How I have missed his kiss. His real kiss. With no fear or worry or hesitation behind it, just excitement and affection and love. And I kiss him back gently and sweetly, pulling him closer by the waist and twirling my tongue with his. The brilliant sensation of him being this close sending shivers through every inch of me.  
>Pulsating.<br>Electrifying.  
>Whirring.<br>That's when Oliver starts walking into me, pushing me backwards into the wooden wall of The Church and I gasp into his mouth as I hit the surface.  
>Oliver pulls away, "Sorry," he mutters, afraid that he's hurt me. I would reply and tell him I'm fine...<p>

But the Energy.

That Brilliant Whirring Electrifying Energy.

It engulfs me.

So I don't answer him. Instead I pull him back into me, hooking his belt hoops on the left side of his jeans and lacing my other hand through his hair under his beanie. I lean back into the wall, pulling him to accompany me and kissing him again, only, this time a lot less gently and sweetly, feeling his heart beat thump against my rib cage and become faster and faster with every moment as that Wild Deer Jaggedness continues to whir around us in crazy unpredictability.  
>And so we keep kissing.<br>I don't know how long we go on for. But however long later it is, when it all has become so intense that the only thing I am aware of is just the two of us, and when we are so tangled up together that for a moment I forget who's limbs and lips and souls are who's, we break apart for air, both of us panting madly with swollen lips and reddened faces.  
>But what sticks out the most, to me at least, is Oliver's eyes. Now just two, black, shiny pits and I know that mine have done the same. In the Georgian weather, along with our heated activities, both Oliver and I have gained quite a sweat, and I watch as small, delicate beads of sweat trickle down his jaw and along his neck to his collar bones, making them sparkle against the shine of the sun. In a sort of really, really photogenic type of way that makes my knees weak and my mind spin with thoughts that I am in no position to explain at the moment. And so we gaze at each other and a grin grows over my mouth without me being able to stop it.<br>"I'm not particularly religious or anything," I begin breathlessly, our bodies pressed and our arms entwined, "but, Oliver, I'm pretty sure it's frowned upon to make out in church."

**Oliver's POV**

I chuckle as I lean forward, unable to resist locking my lips to his again and pressing him against the wall in gentle protest, cupping his cheek as he kisses me back in spite of his statement.  
>I pull away and grin at him in triumph, "Well, technically, we're not actually <em>in<em> church, though," I counteract the Grimes, cocking an eyebrow at him.  
>Carl chuckles at that, replying not with words in that brilliant way of his, but by kissing me again, making the most of the loop hole we have found and my breath catches when he grazed his teeth over my lower lip to tease my sensitive skin.<br>"Oh, right," he finally finds his words again, agreeing sarcastically as he pulls away and lifts his brow in joking fashion. "Of course. How could I have missed that?"  
>I shake my head and lean closer, brushing my grinning lips against his and unable to comprehend how incredibly in love with him I am. "I don't know, Carl. How?" I whisper, faking my musky tone and going along with his sarcasm.<br>Carl leans that little bit further to greet my lips again, letting go of my jeans to tangle both of his hands through my hair as we dart our tongues into each other's mouths. Playing together. And before I realise what has happened it is my back against The Church wall now, and I revel in the sensation of Carl's dominance as he rolls us over to switch places, pressing and tangling our bodies together as intimately as we possibly can out in the open, filling up on as much of that brilliant electricity from each other as we can.  
>When I pull away, Carl drops his hands to my waist, sliding his fingers into my belt loops again and letting his hands hang from them. I still have my eyes closed, focussing solely on his touch as he grazes his fingers up my jawline, as if to marvel and explore my facial features.<br>I feel him skim the ends of his thumbs over my eye lashes before moving down to my parted lips, which he gently nudges, so that my lower lip tugs with the pad of his thumb a little before he carefully releases it. He strokes his hands down my neck and I can feel the warm droplets of my perspiration smear a little with his skin as his thumbs roll over my collar bones.  
>Carl sighs, causing a smile to emerge over my lips as I greatly enjoy his tactility. Then I open my eyes and meet his gaze, shifting my brown between his electrifying blue and exploring his facial features like he was to me, only, with my eyes rather than my hands. And just as I am about to change that, graze my fingers over his jawline, bring my lips down onto his nape, bury my mouth into his collar bones and taste the saltiness of his boiling skin... his brow furrows suddenly, narrowing his eyes as he looks at me closer.<br>I snap out of my erotic fantasies, a short moment of shock and confusion swatting between us. "Carl?"  
>That's when he grins. Widely. Madly... and well, there's no way to deny it... it's damn well sexy.<br>"What?" I ask, struggling to train my thoughts away from how much I want to taste his skin and kiss him until my lips fall off.  
>"Hey look," he mutters and snickers at the same time, "you've hit puberty."<br>I can't stop the look of complete befuddlement at his words, unbearably confused as I am pretty damn certain that I had hit puberty a long time before today.  
>But instead of answering me, he gently cups my chin in his palm and pushes there so that he gets a better look at the side of my jaw.<br>But I pull my head out of his grasp and frown at him, "Carl. What is it?" I ask impatiently.  
>He chuckles, raising his brow as he strokes his thumb over the skin above my upper lip, enjoying confusing me so much. "You're growing facial hair," he tells me finally. "You've got... a little moustache, an', kind of a beard."<br>I cock an eyebrow at him and laugh, eagerly lifting my hand to my face to feel. "Oh yeah," I chuckle when I feel the soft bristles of budding hair sprouting over my chin and upper lip.  
>"Peach fuzz," Carl teases.<br>I scoff, "Someone's jealous," I retort playfully. Although, Carl isn't wrong. The facial hair is hardly worth even mentioning, evident from him only just noticing now because he is so close to me in the daylight.  
>Carl scowls at me but cracks up and smirks. "I'm not jealous," he lies.<br>I laugh, about to respond to him with something immature or sarcastic, but then I notice the budding, soft, dark hairs on his own upper lip. I grin at him. "You don't need to be anyway," I tell him proudly.  
>It's Carl's turn to be surprised, and quicker than I did his hands shoots up to his jaw and then over his upper lip, going as far to search for the facial hair as to pinch at his skin for it. But obviously, like mine, his hair is hardly worth mentioning, and so after a moment he admits defeat and purses his lips into a shy, crumpled smile.<br>I can't help but grin, thinking only of how brilliantly awkward he is.  
>Carl seems to be thinking the same thing, because he chuckles at me, the jagged edges of his canines just visible under his upper lip. I am about to ask if he thinks my new facial hair suits me, as I can definitely vouch that his own suits him very well, despite it only being visible when we are close to each other.<br>But it is at that moment that Carl's expression drops and he suddenly holds his breath, staring in horror at something directly behind my head.  
>My expression drops and adrenaline courses through me at such a reaction from him. My eyes flicker and widen, alarm ringing in my head as I scan his startled expression, waiting for him to say something.<br>But he is speechless.  
>"What is it?" I ask worriedly, stepping forward into him to lean off of the wall.<br>Carl's eyes dart to me for less than a millisecond, before immediately returning to the source of his distress. He motions his head to whatever it is, and I turn around in front of him to look.  
>"Oh, shit. . ." falls from my open mouth upon seeing the writing:<p>

"YOU'LL BURN FOR THIS"

Nothing I would expect to read on the side of a church. Or anywhere for that matter. My heart drops and the hairs all over my body stand to attention, shaken by such a dark, written statement.  
>We stare at it for a long time, until the disturbing silence is too intense and I force it to break. "M-maybe... Maybe Th-The Church takes making out inside of it a little more seriously than I first thought," I try to joke.<br>Even as I face away from the teenager, I can almost feel his eyes as they glare into the back of my skull. "That's not funny, Oliver," he says, inwardly trying to get over his own shock as well.  
>"I know," I say apologetically, reaching forward to run my thumb over the writing.<br>Carl's arms, which are still loosely wrapped around me, tense up when I move. I pause, expecting him to say something, but a moment passes and he relaxes, almost as if he thought that when I touched the carving it would curse me.  
>"It's been scratched in or something," I say softly, feeling the jagged splinters snag over my skin.<br>"Whatever it was, the message isn't meant for us," Carl says, and when I turn around in his loose grip I see him frowning sternly at the markings.  
>"Father Gabriel?" I take a guess at the obvious.<br>"It's gotta be," Carl replies quietly, stepping back slightly and keeping his eyes trained on the mutilated wall.  
>I side step to another part of the building around the corner, realising too late that I have exposed mine and Carl's whereabouts when I come into view of the bus. Eugene spots me first, closest to me by the engine while Abraham and Rosita share private exchanges together on the other end of the bus. But the strange thing is that Eugene startles when he hears me, snapping himself to stand up straight from the hunched position he was in before as he was fiddling with the mechanics of the bus.<br>I am about to just simply go on with looking at the rest of the wall, but Eugene stutters with his words, nervously trying to explain himself for something that I have no apparent reason to be concerned about. I frown awkwardly, not really knowing what he wants from me as he stares in alarm.  
>"Motor oil," he blurts suddenly, and I make an effort not to startle at his outburst. "It was leakin' through the head gasket and was getting' into the antifreeze."<br>Having absolutely no idea about cars or any of that stuff what so ever, I simply nod awkwardly, "Erm... Glad you got it figured." I think that is what I am suppose to say at least, as I am not exactly sure if that was the response he was looking for, if he was looking for one at all.  
>Carl stands just behind me, not particularly paying attention to the Scientist, but I glance at the teenager for a split second, begging him for help before snapping my gaze back to Eugene and wanting nothing more than to end whatever the fuck this awkward conversation is.<br>But then Eugene nods, stiffly turning around and climbing into the bus without another word.  
>For a moment I just sort of stand there, trying hard not to verbally ask what the fuck just happened.<strong><em>It's the mullet. I swear.<em>** I shake my head clear, returning my focus on what my original reason for being here was.  
>So I keep scanning the wall. "Carl, there's more," I announce, spotting more scratch marks scattered all over The Church walls and trying not to imagine people from the past carving and scraping away at the wood and windows. "These scratches could be from walkers," I try to convince myself.<br>"No," Carl shakes his head as he steps around the corner and goes to a closed window, pointing at the chips on the shutters. "They were made by knives. Look, they're too thin an' deep to be from finger nails... walkers can bite an' scratch through skin easy, but not so much wood or plastic."  
><strong><em>Damn, where did his observational skills come from all of a sudden?<em>**  
>"You know, you could be a cop, or detective or something," I tell him, trying to lift the mood.<br>"Michonne said that to me the day of our run," Carl tells me with a smile. But then it fades, "you know, when, everything happened."  
>I give him a small, reassuring smile, about to open my mouth and tell him that what Michonne and I said is true, but Rosita interrupts me. "Hey," she says, spotting us examining the wall. "Everything okay?"<br>Carl and I look over to her, "Y-yeah," I say, forcing myself to socialise a little, and quite frankly glad that my exchange with her is a lot less awkward than my previous exchange was with Eugene.  
>"See something?" the woman asks curiously.<br>Carl shakes his head, "Nah, it's fine," he says, choosing not to involve her or the others in the scratch marks yet. "How's the bus doin'?" he asks, changing the subject.  
>"Not much difference yet, but we're getting there," Abraham answers for her.<br>Rosita cocks an eyebrow at him incredulously, irritated that he had answered the question before she could. But instead of apologising to her, his expression changes for the first time since I have met him and it is such a surprise to me that I almost grin at him. Abraham smirks at her and winks, and they all continue to work on the truck, apart from Eugene, who has been sitting in the vehicle staring at his walkie talkie ever since he spoke to me earlier.  
>Carl goes back to looking at the side of The Church, narrowing his eyes at the damage as he tries to figure out the story behind them. I turn my attention to our surroundings, staying alert after what Rick told us this morning. And just as I think of the man, I recognise his voice coming from the front of The Church.<br>"Carl," I address the teenager as he crouches and keeps examining more scratch marks, "they're back from the food bank."  
>He glances over his shoulder to me, pursing his lips, "Did they get the food?" he asks dismissively, before going back to where his focus truly wants to be on the marks, thumbing at the cut wood.<br>"I don't know, do I?!" I answer in playful irritation, beginning to walk in the direction of the front doors, but just as I go Rick turns around the corner and smiles when he sees me.  
>"Hey," he says to us.<br>"Hi, glad you're back," I wave, backing up to stand with Carl again as his father approaches us.  
>"Me, too. Tyreese said you were out back," Rick tells us as Carl stands and puts his hands on his hips, keeping his sights trained on the wall. "C'mon in. We found food, an' a lot of it."<br>"Good," Carl says without looking at either of us. **_Someone's taking their detective duties a little too seriously..._**  
>Rick cocks an eyebrow at me, looking for an answer to Carl's distracted behaviour. I raise my brow and motion my head to the wall of the building in answer.<br>"What is it?" Rick asks as he stands beside us, following Carl's gaze to the wall.  
>"Those scratches," Carl steps to the building, pointing at the damage, "their deep, like, knives or something... Someone was tryina get in."<br>Rick stays quiet as Carl and I watch his reaction. He turns to us, squinting as he waits for us to enlighten him a little. I nudge Carl's elbow, motioning my head to the corner to remind him where the carved message is.  
>"We found something else," Carl says, stepping away and strolling around the corner with me as Rick follows us. "We don't know what happened but, whatever it is, we can handle it."<br>Rick reads the message, his expression dropping when he does and then tensing again. He leans against the wall, thumbing the deep letters and harbouring the same expression Carl had when he was examining the writing.  
>"Doesn't mean Gabriel's a bad guy for sure, but," Carl says, glancing at me and giving me a small reassuring smile, "it means something."<br>Rick touches the message, scratching at a few letters and tapping his thumb against the snagged wood as he thinks. Finally he drops his arms, turning to face us.  
>"C'mon inside, boys," he says, taking his son's shoulder and ending the previous subject.<br>I chew my lip, still kind of troubled by the message.  
>Rick glances at me, extending his other arm to place it on my shoulder blade to encourage me to walk with them."C'mon, we found some clean clothes."<p>

As I have expressed before, I am constantly uncomfortable in these filthy clothes that I have been wearing since The Prison, and the very idea of finally getting my hands on a new set in the first time since then changes my mind fairly quickly, instantly if I'm honest.  
>A grin spreads over my mouth and I walk with them into the church. "Thanks."<p>

**Notes**

So they're finally getting some clean clothes! Hahaha, you have no idea how long I have waited for that!

In my opinion, despite what Rick told the boys, they didn't do a particularly great job in staying alert during the whole kissing scene, huh? haha

Okay, I am getting kinda scared for Carl. It's true, though what Oliver said. He is like Hershel in that respect. In my opinion, every once in a while the group is given a "Moral Compass"  
>First it was Dale... who got torn apart by walkers.<br>Lori was kinda Rick's moral compass once they got their shit out of the way... she got shot by her son.  
>Andrea was Michonne's... she got bit and had to kill herself.<br>And Dr. Mammet was kind of, almost, The Governor's moral compass... but he got stabbed and then bit Andrea.  
>Then it was Hershel, and he was everybody's moral compass... and he got his head chopped off.<br>Mika and Lizzie were kinda Carol and Ty's (and Oliver's :D) MC... we all read and saw what happened to them.. :,(  
>Bob was kinda a moral compass too, when he was talking to Rick about how everything will be okay one day... and he got his leg chopped off!<br>Then it was Beth, especially when she was with Daryl... and she got her head blown by Bitch Dawn.

Now it's Carl. . . AND I AM NOT LIKING WHERE THIS PATTERN IS GOING!

Also, this chapter was to get out Oliver's anger at himself for what happened to the girls, too. He's still hurting, obviously. I kinda am too, because the more I think about it the more I wish that I had let Mika live – gotten Oliver to save her somehow. If I were to re-write this story, I would save her, and I am really mad that I didn't. I could. But I won't. Like Carl said, it's done now. :( RIP Samuel Sisters

Preview: The next chapter will be quite literally and symbolically The Last Supper. Oliver finally recognises the face of one of the new comers... can you guess who? If so, how will he react? *gasps* XD All good things come to an end, and as members of their group begin to go missing, everyone left is made to figure out how they are to jump over this hurdle... or to prepare themselves as they face plant into the soil.  
>Uh, sorry, that was a really weird preview...<p>

**Make sure you check out Stale M&M's : The Stories of Oliver's Past**

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	36. Chapter 36 The Last Supper

**inazumahunter **Yeah, I was super satisfied to write them getting that closure together. Haha, thanks about the Make-out scene. xx but that's not even tepid compared for what is to come in the future... pun intended... XD

**mks 12 98 **I can't tell you if I do or not. But it all depends on if I can fit her into future scenes. I loved Beth too xx I'm still hurting. Oh dear... now I'm considering saving her... oh God... I DON'T KNOW!

**Oliver's POV  
><strong>  
>Rick and the others brought back over three days worth of food for everyone, along with scrounging up a new set of clothes for all of us. Carl had taken to a pair of dark jeans similar to his last, a dark blue short sleeve and a slightly lighter blue flannel shirt... Shortly after he emerged from the bathroom, I had realised that there was nothing I like more than seeing the Grimes in a flannel shirt. Like, I <em>really<em> like seeing him in a flannel shirt. He's still got the odd shoes though, much to my amusement.  
>My new attire is similar to his, though I had gotten a green plaid flannel and a dark grey long sleeve underneath it. Also, I've still got my matching boots.<br>Glenn, Maggie and Tara got back with a few gun silencers and a little extra ammo.  
>It almost feels like being back at The Prison. I mean, all the food we have here is canned or packeted though, so it's not exactly like The Prison since we had a little fresh produce, too. But it is definitely better than the unchanging meal of pecans and canned peaches we've been living off. We definitely won't go hungry for a few days.<br>Once everyone has taken their portion of diced tomatoes, mixed vegetables, canned chicken and squirrel, we all take our seats somewhere in the chapel nearest the back of The Church. I sit on the floor with my back leant against the side of a bench, Carol sat beside me leant against the bench behind.  
>I eat my supper quietly, smiling at the others as they all make friendly chatter together. I watch as Judith kindly feeds her father a piece of squirrel and the man makes a funny, "Ahhh," noise as he opens his mouth wide for her, making me chuckle at them, secretly feeling pretty proud of myself that I kind of taught her that trick.<br>"Oliver?"  
>I snap my head around to Carol, confused to see that she is holding out her hand to me. I furrow my brow, swallowing a few diced tomato pieces. "Yeah?"<br>"Gimmie your beanie," she says, extending her hand again. "I've seen it fall of your head more times than I can count. It's bothering me."  
>I snort a laugh, "What're you gonna do to it?" I ask, slightly worried.<br>Carol doesn't respond with words, but merely reaches up to the bench behind her and retrieves a little container. I had seen it in Gabriel's office this morning. It's a sewing kit.  
>I grin and pull off my hat, handing it over and then watching for a moment as Carol goes to work on it. Closing up the snagged holes in it, then stitching parts and sewing them together to tighten the rim.<br>"I look around this room, an' I see survivors."  
>I look back to the front at Abraham's voice, my brow rises suddenly when, for the first time in my life, I see a wide grin across his mouth under his bright orange moustache. <strong><em>Jesus Christ. Never thought I'd live to see that!<em>** Carl comes over and takes a seat on the bench I'm leant on, sitting behind me with a plate full of food, and I grin at him as I see that he has stocked it mostly with sweetcorn. His favourite.  
>"Each an' every one o' you has earned that title," Abraham says and I pay my attention to him again, unable to shake the grin from my lips as I realise his is pretty contagious, and quite frankly glad that it is there on my expression. The Sargent lifts his wine glass, "To The Survivors," he toasts gleefully.<br>"To The Survivors!" most everyone cheers, raising their glasses of communal wine before taking a sip of it. Carl and I of course settled with just water which neither of us were particularly fussed about. Carl said that he doesn't like alcohol after tasting some at the CDC, and I had never particularly had much of an urge to try it anyway. **_But you still wanna try the Marlbolo cigarettes?_** _That's different..._ **_How?!_** _I don't know! It just is... and I haven't even touched them yet. To be honest I had forgotten all about them._ **_Then give them to Daryl._** _Okay, fine. I will when I get the chance._  
>I push my thoughts to the back of my head, smirking as I watch Glenn, Maggie and Tara take quite a few sips of their wine, obviously making the most of their evening. But then, something <em>familiar<em> rings in my memory as Tara's glance catches mine, and without meaning to, my expression drops and I stare at her for a moment.  
>Her smile drops suddenly, too, and she quickly averts her eyes. <strong><em>Oliver, stop it.<em>** I realise what I am doing and I look down at my plate, too. **_Way to be the creepies douche in the world, Oliver._**_But... I've seen her before..._ **_Yeah...? Where?_** _I can't remember..._ **_Is she from one of the camps you lived at with Patrick before? Maybe she was someone that you came across back then?_** _No... that's not it._ **_At The Prison, maybe?_** _Maybe..._ **_Oh... shit..._**  
>My expression suddenly tenses and I steal a glance at Tara again, my mind reeling as the penny finally drops. An image blinks into my memory of Tara's startled expression as she watched me, Michonne and Hershel get pulled out of that camper van and shoved into the back of a truck... and her guilty frozen stature as Rick addressed her through the fence, pleading for everyone's lives as she stood beside the tank that was about to tare through our home. <strong><em>She was part of the Governor's Militia... Pony Tails... Oh my god, it's her...<em>**  
>Someone cheers again, snapping me out of my panic. I shake my head and eat another mouthful of canned tomato, forcing myself to swallow before pulling at my beanie hat. But then realising it isn't there and dropping my hand in defeat.<br>Maggie grins at me for some reason, and I realise that she has just said something to me that I wasn't listening to. I force a smile back at her, nodding and making a murmuring noise of agreement and hoping that it passes for whatever she was saying to me. To my relief, she smiles and looks away to talk to Glenn, so I guess I must have responded to her correctly.  
>I look down at my plate, unable to stop my mind from spinning at what I had just found out. But then Carl places his hand on my shoulder, sensing my discomfort and distress in only the way he knows how to. I almost startle, but his touch is soothing and familiar, so instead I lift my hand to his and run my thumb over it, subtly planting a quick kiss on his scabbing knuckles and holding them to my lips for a moment, staring at the back of the bench in front of me. I think for a long time, trying to make sense of her presence in our group.<br>"You alright?" Carl asks quietly.  
>I look up to him and nod, raising my eyebrows nonchalantly. "Yeah," I choose not to tell him what is bothering me, figuring that I am not the only one who knows who Tara is.<br>If Tara is here, I trust that she isn't a bad person. The Governor was manipulative and cruel. And he had a knack of getting people to trust him when he didn't deserve it. She would have been lied to... exploited. I know that. So I let it go for now, suppressing my suddenly nauseous stomach.  
>"Yeah, I'm fine," I tell Carl quietly again, resting my cheek on his hand.<br>He gently squeezes my shoulder in response.  
>"Is that all you wanna be?" Abraham says finally once everyone settles down from their cheerful chatter.<br>We all glance at him, trying to hold onto our uncommon buzz after a good and successful day, but as soon as he asks his question I can feel the surrounding mood slowly begin to diminish. I furrow my brow at the man, confused as I let go of Carl's hand and focus on what Abraham is talking about.  
>"Wake up in the morning, fight the un-dead pricks, forage for food, go to sleep at night - two eyes open, rinse an' repeat?" Abraham continues, looking around to all of us. "'Cause we can do that. I mean, you got the strength... you got the skill. Thing is, for you people - what you can do, now that's jus' surrender."<br>I hear Carol take a deep breath behind me and I glance at her, seeing her head turned away and watching the door, leaning on her arm as she gazes at the unarmed entrance, the grey fabric of my beanie ruffled under her hand against the floor. She looks back to us and when she sees me watching her she holds my gaze for a long moment.  
>I arch my brow and dip my head, silently asking if she is okay, but she only purses her lips and then snaps off the thread and puts the needle back in the sewing kit. "Here," she mumbles, handing me my beanie and then looking back to Abraham.<br>I can tell something is bothering her, but I can take a hint, so I thank her and look back to Abraham, too.  
>"Now," he says confidently, "we get Eugene to Washington and he will make the dead die an' the living will have this world again, an' that is not a bad take away for a little road trip."<br>I hear Judith hum and I shift my eyes to her, watching as Rick coos to her and gently kisses her head as she lays herself to rest on his chest, finally getting tired after the events of today wearing out her fragile mind. I smile, taking another bite of my meal.  
>"Eugene," Abraham addresses her, "what's in D.C.?"<br>The scientist quietly clears his throat and sits up a little straighter on the bench he is sat on opposite me. "Infrastructure constructed to withstand pandemics even to this food-bar magnitude," he answers.  
>I don't mean to, but my jaw kind of drops without my permission, completely zoning out from pretty much the first syllable of his sentence. He glances at me, noticing my reaction and giving me a blank look that I am not sure is in annoyance to my reaction or if that is just how he looks at people. Instantly though, my mouth snaps shut and I look away awkwardly. <strong><em>Well done you idiot. Way to look like the dumbest piece of walking shit in the room as well as the creepiest.<em>** _Hey, shut the hell up. How could any of us understand that? I'm surprised that even he does._ **_I told you, it's the mullet. It disguises him, makes him look like he's got fifty less IQ points that he really does. Clever really if you think about it._** _Yeah, I guess?_  
>"That means food, fuel, refuge," Eugene adds, elaborating us when he sees that it isn't only me that looks completely knocked off kilter. "Restart."<br>"However this plays out," Abraham interjects, his voice remaining clear yet becoming gentler as he goes on. "However long it takes for the Reset Button to kick in, you can be safe there – safer than you been since this whole thing started... Come with us? Save the world for that little one... Save it for yourselves... Save it for the people out there, who've got nothin' left 'cept survive."  
>I exchange glances with Daryl, then Tyreese and then Rick, pursing my lips in agreement to what Abraham is offering. Rick smiles and breathes a chuckle, and Judith coos to her father.<br>"What was 'at?" he asks his daughter, earning a few chuckles from most of us in here. "I think she knows what I'm about to say."  
>Judith hums adorably.<br>"She's in," Rick states and my grin widens. "If she's in, I'm in," he says, smiling as he turns to all of us. "We're in."  
>Everybody cheers in agreement, and I let out a chuckle in my elation, feeling my heart swell against my rib cage. I realise I am still holding my beanie so I quickly put it on. Instantly I can feel the difference. That familiar feeling of comfort and security... it's more than I have ever felt before when I put it on. Only now do I realise how much I was missing out.<br>"Alright," I mumble happily to myself as I take the last bite of my meal.  
>I see Carl's hand hanging over the arm rest of the bench close to my face, so I lift my hand and press the end of my fingers to the end of his. He glances at me and smiles.<br>"Give me your plate?" I offer, and he hands his empty paper plate over while I grab mine and then hold my arm out for Carol's.  
>"Thank you," she says, handing it over, and I see that all too familiar fake smile with her mouth but not with her eyes.<br>I furrow my brow, "Carol, you alright?" I ask her quietly.  
>She smiles wider, but I can see she is only forcing it. Her grey eyes are strained and emptying, almost reminding me of that day. That terrible day. "Yeah, I'm fine Oliver," she lies.<br>Unconvinced, I hold her gaze. But she doesn't relent, and I know she won't any time soon, so finally admit defeat, "Okay, um, the hat, it's great. Thanks," I say quietly, twitching the corner of my mouth into a small smile.  
>She tries to smile, but her head falls and she plays it off as a nod, letting an inaudible "your welcome," form in her lips.<br>I sigh and look away from the troubled woman, not wanting to disturb her anymore so I take all of the plates and carry them over to the table with the other collecting dirty plates. Then I go back over to Carl and sit in front of him, bending my legs at the knees to press them against my chest and rest my arms on them. Carl shifts behind me, encouraging me to comfortably lean back against his legs, resting my head back on his knees.  
>"Washington D.C. now then, huh?" he says to me, absentmindedly fiddling with the edge of my beanie.<br>"I guess so," I answer tiredly, closing my eyes as I relax against him, letting my spine and shoulder blades mould to the shape of his limbs.  
>"It'll be a long journey. I'm guessing it won't jus' be <em>'a little road trip'<em>," he mutters to me, mimicking Abraham's statement.  
><strong><em>There it is. That good old Grimes Pessimism.<em>** I smirk at myself, feeling Carl gently pull off my beanie and place it beside him, before playing with the ends of a few strands of my hair. I can't help but smile as he does, his tactility sending pleasant shivers down my spine. I open my eyes again and gaze up at the intricate art work on the ceiling of The Church, carved into the wooden beams.  
>"How far do you think it is?" he asks a moment later.<br>"Just about six or seven-hundred miles," I answer, furrowing my brow as I speak.  
>I see upside down as Carl cocks an eyebrow at me, impressed that I knew the answer so quickly as I am sure he wasn't expecting one so sure of itself. "How'd you know?" he asks curiously.<br>I take a moment to answer, sighing uncomfortably before I do. "Lorton, where I used to live. I know how far away from it we are here in Macon. And home was only about twenty miles South West of Washington D.C... We'll probably go through it to get there."  
>"Oh, got it... You okay?" Carl asks, sensing my discomfort.<br>I nod a little, but I can feel my expression wincing uncontrollably a little and I know Carl won't let it go unless I explain myself.  
>"Yeah, I guess. It's just..." I let out a sigh, feeling it hitch slightly at the back of my throat. "Mom and Dad... they're still there."<br>Carl purses his lips, about to tell me something, but instead of talking he just leans down and gently kisses my forehead. I smile as the brim of his hat touches my lips, raising my hand to the back of his neck and running my thumb over the thick, brown hair that hangs loosely over it, his simple gesture lifting my mood significantly just like he intended it to.  
>He leans up, satisfied that he has cheered me up and I let my hand slide from his skin, dropping it by my side as I keep my head rested on his knees.<br>Eventually, I push my parents to the back of my mind and let myself relax, and soon, without even realising, I drift off into a light sleep, exhausted after the long day.

I'm not sure how long it is later, but I am pulled back into consciousness when I feel Carl shift his weight behind me, opening my eyes and seeing Rick carefully handing Judith over to his son. I rub my eyes tiredly and lift my head from Carl's knees.  
>"Sorry," Rick apologises to me. "Didn't meana wake you."<br>I shake my head and smile, "It's okay," I tell him, flexing my toes because they have gone numb from being so still for so long on the hard floor.  
>Rick smiles and nods, before going across the chapel and talking with Father Gabriel. But when I look around the room... something doesn't feel right. I scan around the chapel, feeling Carl shift his weight behind me as he cradles Judith to sleep. But then, too late, I finally noticing that Carol isn't here.<br>"You okay?" Carl asks me when he hears my breath hitch.  
>"Where's Carol?" I ask, conveniently answering his question at the same time.<br>He looks to where she was sat by the bench and his brow furrows, "I don't know. I didn't see 'er get up," he tells me.  
>I sit forward to look around a little more, not seeing her anywhere. So I stand up, exchanging a worried glance with the teenager before walking around the bench, my mind reeling as I remember the way Carol was staring at the door earlier...<br>But I go to Gabriel's office first.  
>"Oh!" I startle, foolishly not expecting to see the man in here.<br>Gabriel jumps up from his praying position, his hands seperating from their intwinement together and his head snapping up to look at me, "Sorry," he mumbles, rushing to pick up a picture of something I don't try to look at.  
>"Sorry," I echo him, panicking slightly as I fumble on the spot. "I was... sorry, I'll... sorry, uh, sorry."<br>I leave the room, my cheeks red and my worry for Carol still nagging in my gut as if I have eaten a football.  
>Shaking off my awkwardness, I go into the office opposite to look there, even knocking on the bathroom doors. But no one. I march back into the chapel, everything in my body turning tense and rigid.<br>"Y'alright?" Daryl asks as I begin heading to the front door without considering that doing so would probably be a bad idea, especially alone.  
>I spin around to face him. "O-oh." I glance at the door again before looking at the man. "Yeah, uh, have you seen Carol?"<br>Daryl glances to where she was sat before, and his brow twitches as he realises she is gone, too. "No, how long's she been gone?" he asks me.  
>I shake my head and shrug, "I don't know. I was asleep. Carl said he didn't notice her get up," I explain.<br>Daryl narrows his eyes, thinking over everything. He kind of grunts in that Dixon way that means that he is trying to steer a conversation to its end. "She's probably jus' gone to the bathroom," he tells me, about to turn away and sit down again.  
>"Daryl," I blurt out, panic crawling up my spine and weaselling its way into my expression, causing me to use his first name without meaning to despite the fact that he probably didn't think anything of it. "Sorry – M-Mr. Dixon... It's just, she wanted to leave... after everything that happened at The Prison, and." I stop myself before I mention Mika or Lizzie, skipping their subject because I'm not sure if Daryl knows yet. "W-with Karen and David. She doesn't think she can stay."<br>Daryl frowns, making his gaze intensify from his concern as he glares at me, happening so fiercely and suddenly that I have to stop myself from startling. "Ya know 'bout that? 'Bout Karen an' David?" he growls.  
>"Yeah," I answer as I nod, swallowing the dryness in my throat.<br>There is a short pause as he processes everything, weighing out whether Carol would really leave. Finally coming to the same outcome as I did.  
>"I'll go look for her," Daryl tells me quietly, starting for the exit and without hesitating I begin to go with him. But he holds his hand up to stop me, crossbow slung over his shoulder and swinging as he turns. "No, I don't need ya goin' missin', too."<br>I frown at him and shake my head, "She's not missing. She's just..." I don't know how to finish, so I restart my sentence "Look, I won't slow you down. I swear."  
>Daryl purses his lips, but doesn't relent.<br>"Mr. Dixon, please? I can help."  
>"Nah," he grunts. "I won't be long. Think I know where she's gone, I'll be back in a few minutes. Need ya here case she comes back... or case I don't."<br>I grit my teeth, knowing that the man is only making excuses. But I realise that I can't get him to change his mind. Not to mention that if there is anyone around here that can find and convince Carol to stay, then I am sure it would be him.  
>"Yes, Sir," I relent, stepping back to let him pass and watching with furrowed eyebrows as he leaves out of The Church.<br>**_He'll be back with her._** _Yeah, I know... I hope._  
>A moment passes while I quietly struggle to push my worries to the back of my mind, convincing myself that it'll be fine, until finally I go back over to Carl and Judith.<br>Carl watches me as I take a seat beside him, reading the worry on my expression. "What're you thinkin'?" he asks dubiously.  
>I look at him, pursing my lips. "That she's left us," I answer bitterly.<br>"Why?"  
><em>I should tell him.<em> **_I... I think so, too. I mean, he already knows about Mika and Lizzie._** _Yeah, but I wasn't suppose to tell him about them... Tyreese wants to forget._ **_Yes, that is true. But you can't forget about them. You said it yourself that you didn't want to. You can't. You owe it to Mika and Lizzie not to forget._** _I know, and I won't. Ever._ **_Look, Tyreese said that he was going to tell everyone anyway, and Carl is smart enough not to react badly. You know him. And you know that he will be okay with it... especially if you are._**  
>"Karen and David?" I begin, keeping my voice low under the quiet chatter of everyone else so that only Carl hears me.<br>He nods as he remembers the old cell block residents who were murdered in cold blood.  
>"Carol... she did it. She was trying to stop the illness from spreading."<br>I watch Carl's expression widen, but like before when I was telling him about the girls, he chooses to stay quiet to let me speak.  
>"Your dad found out. That's why she never came back from there run together... he sent her out on her own... She doesn't feel welcome any more. I don't know if it's because she feels guilty, after everything else we've had to do... but, back on the tracks... she said she was going to make sure we were safe at Terminus and then leave... I think she might still believe that it's what she needs to do."<br>Carl stares into his lap for a long time, frowning as he thinks what I have said over. "Dad an' Tyreese's fight... was that why?" he asks.  
>I shake my head, "No. Ty didn't know until Carol told him a while ago when we were back at The Grove, just after the girls," I answer him, trailing off a little without meaning to. But I pick my voice up again, "Their fight was because Ty got mad. He was still mourning and angry, so he took it out on your dad... and... your dad took out some of his own anger on him, too, I guess."<br>Carl nods, something flickering in his expression that gives me the feeling that he isn't a stranger to the knowledge of his father's anger, having witnessed his father's lowest moments before with his own eyes. "And Tyreese... he's okay with it?" he asks quietly.  
>I hear Rick and Tyreese laughing over by the table and I turn my head and glance at them, smiling a little as Tyreese tells a story about when he and Sasha were kids.<br>I look back to Carl and purse my lips. "No," I answer truthfully, because I know that Tyreese can never be alright with the murder of his girlfriend. "But he's forgiven her. He's forgiven Carol."  
>"Have you?"<br>In less than a moment, I remember the way Carol looked at me after my asthma attack back at The Prison, when everyone was scared that it was because I had gotten the illness from Patrick... I know now that Carol was so sympathetic because she was afraid that she would have to put me down too. And I know that she would have, too... to try and save everyone.  
>"Yes," I answer him without hesitating.<br>Carl takes a moment to respond, carefully moving over to place Judith in her basket before turning back to me and letting a small smile spread over his mouth. "Then I do, too," he says, "We've all done stuff. But we can start over now."  
>I nod gratefully, lifting my hand to Carl's neck and gently pulling him closer to plant a kiss on his cheek, before dipping my face and pressing our foreheads together. "Yeah," I second him with as much truth as I know of. "Yeah, we can."<br>I pull away and face the bench in front, restlessly glancing at The Church door as my worry increases again. _Daryl and Carol aren't back yet..._**_They'll come back._** I purse my lips and look away again, grabbing my beanie from the other side of Carl and sliding it over my head. _That's better... a little at least._  
>Although it isn't five minutes later when my worry has become so intense that I can't bare it any more, that I stand up and march to Rick. But that's when Glenn speaks, "Where's Sasha?"<br>"She went to find Bob a few minutes ago," Tara answers a moment later.  
>I stop in my tracks, feeling as if I have just walked through an invisible sheet of ice.<br>"Bob's gone?" Maggie and Rick both say in unison.  
>"Carol and Daryl haven't come back either," I tell everyone listening, suddenly becoming aware of the creeping dread leaking over the evening as four of our group has disappeared... as if they've been slowly picked off one by one.<br>"What?" Rick hisses, his lips curling into a snarl as he glares at me. "How long've they all been gone?"  
>"Carol left a while ago – I'm not sure how long. But Daryl went to find her a few minutes ago," I explain. "He said he'd be back in a little while but... I'm sorry, I should've told you sooner."<br>"Me, too," Tara suddenly blurts, darting her eyes nervously between me and Rick. "I should've said something before."  
>Rick grits his teeth, looking as though he is ready to roar at us. But he marches to the door and I make to follow him, but he swings around and holds his hand up, "No. I need you to stay here," he orders and I hear as Carl stands beside me, glaring at his father and readying himself to insist in helping. But Rick cuts him off before Carl even opens his mouth. "You too, Carl," he growls at his son. "Don't need you both out there. Tyreese, come with me. I need the rest o' ya'll to stay here in case we don't come back."<br>**_That's what Daryl said..._**  
>I stand rigid as I watch the two men un-holster their weapons and leave The Church, slamming the door closed behind them. Carl grabs the ends of my fingers between his thumb and fingers and gently pulls me to come back over to the bench, and as I go with him my eyes linger on the closed door for a long moment, feeling my spine crawl as the wooden surface still shakes and shudders from being closed so roughly.<br>Carl takes a seat beside his sister who is sleeping in her basket, expecting me to join him. But I can't sit down. I can't relax. _Anything could have happened to them. Carol, Daryl, Bob, Sasha... they could have been hurt. They could be lost._**_What if walkers got them...? What if they're being attacked? They could be out there right now screaming for help as they're ripped limb from limb..._**  
>"Oliver," Maggie's voice snaps me out of my rising panic and I only just realise that I am pacing along the bench three rows behind where I was a moment ago with Carl. I'd been stepping four times to the right side of the bench and then spinning around and stepping four times to the left. So I stop and grip the back of the bench in front, grinding my teeth as I glare at the stack of bibles on the seat next to the female Rhee.<br>"You gotta calm down, sweetie," Maggie says gently to me, placing her hand on mine and gently running her thumb over the back of my wrist. "You'll only drive yourself crazy getting' all worked up like this."  
>"Try to think of something else," Carl adds.<br>I shoot him a glare, but it turns into a wince as I see his brow arched in worry for me. Maggie takes back her hand, pursing her lips into a worried smile to try to reassure me.  
>"Sorry," I apologies to the both of them.<br>Maggie nods, looking at the stack of bibles before thumbing at one and picking it up. Guilt and dread tenses my limbs and I have to think hard about pulling myself from where I am stood to walk over to the Grimes. I am about to sit down and wait with him.

But then The Church doors swing open.

**Notes**

Oliver got his hat tightened! YAY X

Don't forget to check out **Stale M&M's : The Stories of Oliver's Past**

Latest chapter is his first kiss with Penelope x

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	37. Chapter 37 Damning The Preacher

**inzumahunting **Nah, who do you think I am? I wouldn't dare seperate them ever again... or would I...? *evil laugh* AW! Thank you xx I can't believe that people are willing to re-read my stuff! THANKS!

**Oliver's POV**

"Stop!" Sasha hisses as she marches through The Church doors with Rick and Tyreese following tensely behind her.

That's three people back out of the six that had left. Now we just need to see Bob, Carol and Daryl return...

I watch, stood like a statue as Sasha squares up to Father Gabriel. "What're you doin'?" she asks him, her voice low and dangerous.

Gabriel stares at her for a moment, confused and startled by the eerie aggression in her tone. He slowly walks towards her, bible in hand and grasping it as if it can create a barrier between him and the woman.

"What... are you doing?" Sasha repeats sternly. "This is all connected. You show up. We're being watched. An' now three of us are gone."

Gabriel looks around desperately, but no one helps him. We all want answers. "I..." he begins, his eyes wide with fear, "I don't... I don't have anything to do with this."

Sasha takes out her knife and advances on the preacher.

Instinctively I rise from my seat. "Sasha, stop!" I bark.

"Don't!" Rosita shouts, reacting the same way as I have, but Abraham holds her back and I am also stopped as Carl grabs my wrist and shoves me to a stop.

"Put it away!" Rick growls at Sasha, and all anyone else can do is watch.

"Who's out there?" Sasha orders, stepping closer and gripping her knife. But Gabriel stutters... only further enraging Sasha. "Where... are our people?" she growls dangerously.

"I don't have anythi-"  
>"WHERE ARE OUR PEOPLE?!" Sasha roars, getting right in his face.<p>

"Please?" Gabriel begs as he almost stumbles back, "I don't have anything to do with this. I... I."

Sasha steps away, shaking her head as she tries to settle her hysteria. But then Rick steps forward to the priest.

"Why'd you bring us here?" he asks sternly.

"Please?" Gabriel begs, holding his hands up in submission and arching his brow, "I... I-I-"

"You workin' with someone?" The Grimes asks.

"I'm alone," Gabriel answers frantically. "I'm alone. I was always alone."

"What about that woman in the food bank, Gabriel?" Rick asks, presumably referring to a walker they must have encountered on their run. "What did you do to her?" He pauses, waiting for an explanation that doesn't arrive. "'You will _burn_ for this'... that was meant for you. Why? What're you gonna burn for, Gabriel?"

Gabriel goes to plead his innocence again, but Rick lunges for him, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him into the wooden railing behind.

"What?! What, did you do?!" Rick orders. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

Rick lets go, and Gabriel grips the banister of the railing to stay stood up. His mouth opens and closes, trying to find his voice again.

Carl drops my wrist and I slowly set myself beside him, listening tensely to what Gabriel is trying to tell us.

"I lock the doors at night," he mutters shakily, "I always lock the doors at night. I always lock the doors at nig-" He begins crying before he finishes, and takes a moment to compose himself. "They started coming. My congregation... Atlanta was bombed the night before – they were scared, they were - they were, looking for a safe place. A place where they felt safe."

I stare at the man as he rambles, the horror seeping up my spine as I begin to put the pieces together. I see Carl's expression drop, realising where Gabriel is going with this, too.

"An' it was so early. It was so early," he pleads, his voice dripping with guilt. "The doors were still locked... you see...? It was my choice... but there was so many of them, and they were, tryina pry the shutters an' banging on the side, an' s-screaming at me. And so, the dead came for them."

I stare at him, horrified and wide eyed. His eyes meet mine and this time I don't look away. I watch, disgusted by him as his gaze shifts between Carl and I, as the teenager has also had the same reaction as me.

"Women," Gabriel adds, nodding slightly as he talks, as if he is proving how despicable he is and hating every moment of it. "Children," he sobs. "Entire families calling my name as they were torn apart. Begging me for mercy. Begging me for mercy," he wails. "Damning me to Hell." He clutches his fists to his chest, praying into them. "I buried their bones... I buried it all," he says as we all continue to stare in shock. "The Lord sent you here to finally punish me." We watch as he collapses to the floor, arching his brow in sorrow as he looks up at Rick. "I'm damned!" he sobs. "I was damned before... I always lock the doors. I always lock the doors!"

Sasha puts away her knife, and everyone else leaves Gabriel, walking back to their benches and taking a seat.

I watch him, gritting my teeth as the man sobs hysterically on the chapel floor, disgusted by why he believes that he is important enough for all of us to be sent here to him just to punish him. And why he thinks that God cares enough about him, or any of us anymore, to waste his time damning us to Hell when we already live in our own version of it.

I slump beside Carl, feeling my anger rise as I glare at the floor.

But then we hear the whistling.

Glenn rushes to the window as the whistling continues, droning through The Church and making my skin crawl.

"There's something," Glenn says, shock and dread filling his voice. "There's someone outside lying in the grass!"

Everyone rushes to the door.

"Sasha!" Rick barks as she sprints past and out of the exit.

Carl and I rush to help, hearing Sasha suddenly cry out.

"BOB!" she screams.

And then I see him, just like Glenn said; lying in the grass... but there's something else. For a moment I think the gloom is playing tricks on my mind, but then I focus on it, or rather, I fail to focus on it because there is nothing to focus on... Bob's left leg is gone.

"His leg," Maggie mutters in terror as we all watch Sasha crouch beside her weakened and injured boyfriend.

"Get Bob inside! Take care of him!" Glenn orders as a few walkers advance on us.

I see Rick, Maggie and Glenn rush toward them. Glenn and Maggie take the first few undead out with ease. I take aim, trusting myself enough to pull the trigger. I hit my target, shooting a walker just as it is about to sink its teeth into Rick's arm. He glances behind his shoulder at me, nodding when he sees that I had done it before shooting at a few other walkers.

But then gunfire bulldozes through The Church property. But it's not from us! I feel Michonne shove me back into the doors into cover, Carl too, both of us panicking as we hear the begging from Sasha as she and Tara try to hoist Bob from the ground.

More gunshots.

"Get inside! GO!" Rick roars, shooting into the tree line at invisible enemies.

I freeze as I watch Sasha and Tara carry Bob into The Church, barely managing not to drop him as they set him on the wooden floor. His leg in bandaged... tended to. And my mind reels as it searches for the answer to how this happened to him when mere hours ago he was absolutely fine.

Rick marches back into the building, slamming the doors closed behind him and heaving as he tries to catch his breath again. "They've been watchin' us," he seems to scold himself.

He composes himself and turns around to all of us, and we all go and gather around the injured man.

"Bob, what happened to you?" Sasha pleads.

Bob's expression contorts in his pain and fear, but he manages to speak, hissing his breath through gritted teeth between sentences. "I was in the grave yard!" he begins. "Somebody knocked me out. I woke up outside this place. Looked like a-a school... it was that guy. Gareth. And five other ones... They were eating my leg right in fronta me... like it was nothin'... all proud, like they had it all figured out."

I stare at him in horror, my mind and stomach convulsing as I wonder if I had hear him right. I recognise the name Gareth from hearing the others talking about him and the other Termites. This whole time since running into Martin that day, I knew that Terminus was a bad place, and then as Carol and I invaded the territory we had discovered more of their lunacy and twisted ways. Luring people there to kill them. I had assumed that it ended their, like some sick sacrificial ritual or something... but this... eating a man's leg? The thought had never even crossed my mind!

_**They ate his fucking leg?! **__What the fuck?! WHAT THE FUCK?! __**Who the fuck does that?! How does someone do that?! Walkers fucking eat people! People don't fucking eat people! That's sick! **_I can feel my stomach lurch and the bile as it rises in my throat, so I lift my hand and press it over my mouth, refusing to throw up.

"Did they have Daryl, an' Carol?" Rick asks the distraught man.

"Gareth said they drove off."

My eyes widen and my stomach flips again. "No," I mutter under my breath, so quietly that only Carl hears me.

He glances at me worriedly as I stare at Bob and feel my heart fall to the floor. _**She left? She left us? **__No! No, she can't have. Daryl went with her. He wouldn't just leave us all, too... would he? __**Why not...? Carol left you. All of you. Why wouldn't he, too? **_I wince, refusing to let my tears form as I look away from Bob and stare at the floor, focusing on not throwing up.

Bob begins to pant from his agony. "He's in pain," Sasha pleads, "do we have anything?"  
>"I think there are still packets in the first aid kit," Rosita offers quietly.<p>

Sasha nods frantically, so Rosita begins to stand and go get them.

"Save 'em!" Bob hisses.

"No," Sasha argues.

But Bob turns to her, scowling. "REALLY!" he growls.

Tears stream from his eyes and he struggles to sit up, gingerly reaching for his shoulder. _**Oh no...**_ My stomach drops, knowing exactly what he is about to do as Bob rolls down the collar of his shirt... revealing the torn and ripped flesh on his shoulder... _**No!**_

Dread floods The Church, oozing from every living soul in here, silencing everyone as we all stare at the bite wound on our friend's shoulder.

"It happened at the food bank," Bob tells Sasha as tears spill from her eyes.

"It's okay," she barely manages to tell him as she helps him lie down again. "Bob."

"There's a sofa, in my office," Gabriel offers behind us, speaking for the first time since his confession. "I know it's not much, but..."

"Thank you," Sasha says gratefully, fighting the emotion from her face.

"I got him," Tyreese offers as the rest of us stand.

My stomach continues to heave, but I try my best to ignore it. Carl takes my hand and nudges me to accompany him to tend to his sister. So without a word as I try not to retch, I follow him as he lifts his little sister's basket and carries her into the supply room opposite Gabriel's office for more quiet.

"She needs to sleep," he says quietly as she cries, overwhelmed by everything going on.

I am distracted as I see Tyreese carry Bob into Gabriel's office, hearing the injured man groan in his pain as he is presumably set down on the couch. I look away, swallowing as I finally nod to what Carl had said, but even the simple movement causes my mind to spin and gut to twist in repulse at everything I have just witnessed and learnt.

We enter the supply room. It has a desk and a chair, much like Gabriel's office. But it is cleaner in here, and looks less used. But all I really take notice of is the fact that it has a bathroom in another little room in the corner. I try to ignore my nausea, and I beg my gut to settle.

But the dread of never seeing Carol or Daryl again... and the looming danger of cannibals preying on us at this very moment... and my already full stomach after eating more than my fill mere hours ago... it's all just too much.

My stomach and spine convulse as I stumble into the bathroom, mumbling things I don't realise as I slam the seat of the toilet up before violently retching and puking into it. I yack everything. Absolutely everything. For so long that my stomach is raw and I feel like I'm about to pass out, cursing myself for my stupid weak stomach and feeling like an idiot for letting it all get to me like this.

I don't know when Carl came in and began rubbing circles into my back. I'd be embarrassed if I wasn't so horrified, so I just keep throwing up into the toilet.

"I AM TRYINA SAVE YOUR'S - SAVE EVERYONE'S!"

"They're comin' back!"

"TO WHAT? PICKED OVER BONES?! LET GO OF MY HANDS!"

"Abraham!"

"Hey, stop!"

We can hear the yelling coming from the chapel from Abraham, Rick, Rosita and Glenn. But I am too focussed on not collapsing to know what it is about.

Finally, I am just about empty and I wheeze as I rest against the toilet, too drained to move myself yet.

"C'mon, Oliver," Carl says gently as he grabs some tissue and hands it to me, helping me move from the toilet.

I mumble a "thank you" as I wipe my mouth, pushing myself backwards to lean against the wall as I drop the tissue into the toilet. But then I hear Bob cry out from inside Gabriel's office, his agony trembling through the walls of The Church like an earthquake.

"Oh no..." I roll over, clambering for the toilet and throwing up again, hating myself for eating that second serving of diced tomatoes. I try to flush it, but the plumbing hasn't been working for a while it seems because it does almost nothing. I grimace and instead just push down the seat to cover it. "Sorry," I apologise as I dare a glance to the teenager I am amazed is still in here and bearing all of this.

"Here," Carl says sympathetically, handing me a water bottle and more tissue.

I wipe and then rinse my mouth, quickly spitting into the toilet again before resting against the wall like before, gulping as much of the water as my sore stomach will allow.

Carl sits opposite me, holding a now calm Judith in his arms. He has also learnt that Judith sleeps easier when she is being held, like some babies sleep easier in cars, though we don't have that luxury yet so no doubt he will wait for her to fall asleep before putting her back in her cot. Though she is still awake, especially after all of my damned retching.

For a moment it is silent, allowing Carl and I to suddenly become aware of the thick tension in the air of The Church as we listen intently to the soundless atmosphere. But then we hear footsteps... marching footsteps.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" Glenn growls. "Hey, hey, hey!"

_**Jesus! What's happening. Is someone picking a fight or something? **__Sounds like it..._

"Carl," I whisper to him. He nods as he listens to them. I think from his angle he can see them too because he definitely looks like he is watching, with a firm scowl is on his expression, "what's going on?"

"Abraham wants to go, now," he mutters in concern, not glancing at me as he stares at the argument going on outside. "They're tryina get 'im to wait until morning. Tara said she'll go, too. But... he wants Maggie an' Glenn as well."

My eyes widen for a moment, wandering why the hell he would want to leave at this hour when those Termites are waiting for us, and why the fuck he has the audacity to propose splitting up our group after everything we have been through. But instead of voicing my confusion, I stay quiet and listen to the others.

"You stay," Glenn says to Abraham I am guessing. "You stay an' help us... and we will go with you."

My eyes widen, feeling my cheeks flush with anger.

"No," Rick argues.

"It's not your call," Glenn tells him sternly. "You stay," he says, presumably to Abraham, "help us."

"Half a day," Abraham agrees finally. "Come high noon were tail lights. No waiting for the other damn shoe to drop."

"And we _will _leave with you," I hear Maggie confirm and my heart drops again.

"Twelve hours," Abraham says, "an' we go."

**Carl's POV**

For a long time I sit on the bathroom floor and scowl at my folded knees, Oliver doing exactly the same as we both silently process everything that is happening. Everyone settles, muttering quietly on what our next move will be.

I notice Oliver looking at something outside of the bathroom and I follow his gaze to the wall in his view opposite the door to get into the office.

It's covered in drawings, of a baby in a basket floating in a reedy stream, and others of a bush on fire, the colours unrealistic and obviously done by children by how scruffy they all are. They're depicted from stories in The Bible that I can't remember. But I realse that Oliver is looking at the script on the wall in a frame, reading:

"_And let us not grow weary of doing good_

_For in due season we will reap if we do not give up_

_Galatians 6:9"_

"Goddamn it," Oliver mutters suddenly.

Both Judith and I startle.

He's irritated, losing himself in his frustration and worry and provoked by the message on the wall. I can see why. Doing good. It's a controversy aim nower days. We are good people. We just have to do bad things... Oliver is just a little angry that we haven't reaped the benefits from it all yet... or maybe he is wondering if we deserve to reap from it at all.

Judith begins crying from his outburst as she was only just starting to doze off. Oliver's brow arches, "Sorry," he apologises, just as she begins to fidget now too, deciding that she doesn't want to sleep after all.

"It's fine," I mumble as I stroke her tiny spine, feeling her whimper into my shirt and her eyelashes as they flutter over my collar bones. "She'll fall asleep again in a minute. If we stay quiet."

Oliver takes another quiet swig of his water before glancing at me and the crying baby, shaking his head regrettably, "No," he disagrees quietly, "she's too stubborn. She's not sleeping any time soon, now."

For a moment, I almost feel jealous of how in tune Oliver and Judith are. In the time they had together since the suburb house, their bond has strengthened as close as I think I have ever seen between Judith and another person unrelated to her... maybe even more so than me and Dad. I have seen Judith wail in both mine and my father's arms with no sign of relenting no matter how softly we coo to her. But Oliver? Judith only has to feel his arms around her to settle.

I know Oliver knows this, too. But he is being kind enough not to offer his assistance to calm her, sensing my mild dismay towards it. But I realise that my petty resentment is just that; petty, insignificant and immature. So I sigh and extend my little sister towards him, "Jus' take 'er," I say in meaningful jest, somewhat forcing my smirk but still wanting Oliver's assistance all the same.

But Oliver refuses, "Don't give up so fast. Just hold her for a sec," he instructs.

So I do as he says, rolling my eyes without even trying to stop myself. But Judith doesn't settle, and her wailing increases, ringing in my ears and making my brain rattle. "It's not working," I mutter, bobbing her slightly in my arms.

"Shh, just stay still a moment," Oliver says gently. "Try to let her have her feet pressed against your arm. She likes the security it gives her."

I hold his gaze, narrowing my eyes a little and sighing, before doing as he says; letting Judith press the souls of her feet against my arm and simply holding her without moving.

She doesn't stop crying.

"Okay, now tap your feet on the floor a little. The noise and the patting on her back'll calm her."

Remaining sceptical, I do as Oliver says, gently drumming my toes on the floor, rolling my heels as I do which causes the top of my knees to gently knock against the back of her tiny spine. But to my amazement, as the bathroom and supply room fill with the faint tapping of my odd shoes as they hit the smooth floor... Judith stops crying.

I glance up at Oliver, my mouth falling agape in amazement as he grins at me.

"Now stroke her nose," he tells me quietly, motioning to Judith as she glances alertly to and from me and Oliver. I must give him a sceptical look, because he nods and motions to her again, "I'm serious. It works. From the top of her forehead to the end of her nose. I swear, it works a miracle."

I sort of scoff a laugh, but I know he has probably had to use this trick over the time they have been on the road together. So I lift my hand, making sure I have a secure hold of my sister before placing the pad of my thumb just below the faint outline of her hairline on her forehead. Her light eyes train on my hand and she keeps her head abnormally still, as if she knows what I am doing. And when I gently run my extremity down her forehead and along the tiny line of her delicate nose, her eyes begin to close.

Again, I glance up to Oliver in awe and he grins and motions for me to do it again. So I do, running my thumb from her forehead to the end of her nose. Her eyelids droop further and her breathing slows. Soon, after a few more grazes down her pale face, those delicate eyes of hers finally close fully and she loses herself into slumber. Her bright orbs no longer visible.

I still can't tell if they take after my father's or Shane's... though they are blue... like mine... like my father's. Only, they are totally unique as well. With a gentle and faint ring of dark, deep brown flecks around her pupils, making the black and brown almost blend into the blue.

I smile as I look at Oliver, holding his gaze for a long moment. "I didn't know you were so good at handling her," I whisper.

Oliver smirks modestly. "She's a Stubborn Grimes. I've had practice at dealing with her brother," he jokes, less modestly.

I chuckle, silently agreeing completely with him but refusing to say so.

He holds out his hand, the bathroom cubicle being narrow enough that when I lift my hand to his, he is easy to reach and hold onto. He strokes his thumb over my knuckle and I let our tangled extremities droop to the floor and rest there, allowing us to briefly forget about the looming danger that hovers over The Church like a bird of prey.

"You two alright?"

I almost startle at my father's voice as the short serenity is cut to finish. He stands in the doorway, wrinkling his brow as he sees the three of us cooped in the bathroom cubicle-room together. As I am sure seeing Oliver's face paler than paper, and Judith in my arms instead of in her cot must be a little unexpected for him.

"Yeah," I answer him, letting go of Oliver's hand to hold Judith. "Oliver's jus' not feelin' very well."

"I'm fine," Oliver says before Dad can ask if he is alright. "Is everything alright out there with you all. We heard... uh, you know... the arguing and all."

Dad nods slowly to him. "Yeah," he says, pausing for so long that I think that is all he will say. But then he motions us out of the bathroom, "Listen. I gotta talk to you both."

I stand up, carefully helping Oliver up before going into the supply room and taking a seat on the desk, placing my sister back into her cot, now fast asleep. Oliver pulls himself onto the desk surface beside me, propping his feet on the edge of my seat.

Dad shifts his weight on his hips, glancing around the room before finally looking at us. "We've got a plan," he begins.

**Oliver's POV**

I do well to keep my expression free of the dread and fear that I truly feel as Rick explains the intricate plan that he intends to ensue within the next few hours. I won't lie though, I am terrified. If this doesn't work... everyone will die tonight. If we get the timing off by even a moment... everyone will die. But I trust Rick. I trust Michonne and Sasha and Glenn and Maggie... I trust Carol and Daryl to return... so I help prepare everyone for what we are all about to do.

"Oliver," Rick says quietly, handing me extra ammo for my glock, "take this," he says.

"Thanks," I purse my lips as I gratefully stuff the full magazine into my back pocket with the packet of _Marlboro _cigarettes. I had forgotten that they were in there. And by now they are pretty squashed.

Instead of turning and continuing with his task of gearing himself up with his weapons, Rick holds my gaze, wanting to say something else.

"You okay?" I ask dubiously.

Rick purses his lips, his forehead wrinkling as he furrows his brow and inhales. "I wanted to ask you a favour," he starts and I nod in acceptance to whatever he wants without even hesitating. "I was wonderin' if you'd be willing to let me use your machete? Just for tonight. I figured you won't need it with your extra rounds anyway."

My expression tenses for a millisecond, instinctively going on defence against the idea of giving up my favoured weapon, but in the same moment I realise who is asking and I lift my hand over my shoulder and pull off both my machete and sheath. "Yeah. Why?" I ask curiously.

Rick pauses for a long time before answering, his voice low and raspy, only emphasised by his Southern drawl.

"I made a promise."

Without another word, I extend my trusty weapon towards him and he takes it gratefully, grasping the red handle for a moment, before fitting it and the sheath around his hips as the sheath is made for both the torso and the waist.

"Thank you," he says.

I nod, and with that, he, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, Tara, Sasha and Abraham leave The Church... leaving the rest of us in darkness, hiding in silence in Gabriel's office.

Listening.

Expecting.

Waiting...

For everything...

**Notes**

Okay, I'm just gonna get this off my chest...

I only wrote Oliver rushing off to throw up so that I didn't have to write the dialogue where everyone was talking, uhhh, I'm sorry I just was so lazy so I made it into my own scene. I feel dirty... AH I'M SORRY!

Don't forget to check out **Stale M&M's : The Stories of Oliver's Past **:)

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	38. Chapter 38 Four Walls and a Roof

**westerlo4 **I have made my choice... Beth's fate has been decided. I guess you will just have to wait and see xxx

**GreekGoddess102 **Hello! Love to you, too! Thank you so much! That's so lovely for you to say xxxx

**inazumahunter** hehehehe I swear, when the machete is made into merch. I'm going to comic con and buying it!

**Oliver's POV**

Time passes like chalk on a board. Every second feeling longer than the last and scraping by with a silent sting that burrows deep into my bones. The only noise I hear is our breathing, and the continual tap of Carl's index finger as he beats a faint rhythm into the handle of his gun. But I hold onto that noise, focusing on it obsessively. Wanting him never to stop in fear of the true silence that attempts to fill every crevice of The Church. For true silence is terrifying. True silence, I have come to learn... is deadly.

Judith is awake, despite the quiet. Sensing our dismal and worried moods. It is clear that she wont be sleeping tonight after all just like the rest of us. I keep my eyes trained on her as she does with me, almost as if she is searching my expression for an explanation to everything that is confusing her right now.

It's the footsteps that I hear first.

Back at The Prison, I read a book about African wildlife. I'm not sure what it was called, just that I wanted so much to read it because I knew I would never get to go there. But Africa was still out there, _is_ still out there, so I wanted to learn about it. But anyway, I read about how zebra foals can identify their mother's by their stripes. But it didn't make sense. How can it recognise something that is so similar to everything else? Well, it bothered me so much that I re-read the page more times than I care to admit.

But I get it now.

I'm not sure what it is about my family's footsteps. Maybe it's that I have known them all for long enough now to recognise them, because it isn't often that I will hear someone like Carol or Rick or Michonne or Carl walking up behind me or around a corner and I won't know who it is.

Like a zebra's stripes, each footstep belonging to an individual member of my family is similar, but completely unique in its own way.

It's a slight scuff of Rick's boots that give him away. Carl, much like his father, walks with a slight scuff as his odd hiking boots brush the floor, yet it is a little quieter and lighter than Rick's. With Michonne, it's her determined and confident pace that makes her footsteps easy to recognise. With Tyreese, it's the heavy distinct beats of his souls as they hit the ground and the faint squeak in his worn down old pair that I know so well. And Carol has a very light and precise step much like my own.

But these footsteps... they aren't from my family. I can tell that there are a similar number of the people who left The Church coming to invade it now, but I don't recognise any of them. It makes me feel like a zebra foal that has just stumbled into the wrong herd. But, this herd... it just so happens to be a pride of lions instead.

I glance to Carl beside me, feeling my heart beat bash against my chest as a coarse of adrenaline is thrown around my body. He meets my gaze for a moment, a slight, almost unnoticeable smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, gently reminding me that this is all going to plan. I let out a breath I didn't realise I was holding, greatful that I can rely on him to reassure me, even in this circumstance.

We hear the bashing against The Church doors and return our attention to the office door, taking out our guns and aiming at the wooden surface. I see out of my peripheral vision Rosita doing the same with Eugene beside her watching the door, while Bob lays still and weak on the couch, wincing from the lingering pain in his amputated leg as Tyreese tries to silently comfort him. Father Gabriel cowers behind his desk, clutching his prayer beads and silently mumbling nothings into them with Judith in her basket beside him, nervously glancing around the room as she listens to the front door finally break open with a loud snap.

We all listen as the unfamiliar hunters enter the building, slowly making their way through the chapel.

"Well, I guess you know we're here!"

A man who I have never heard before, his voice clear, confident and articulate. I am assuming that he is the leader of Terminus; Gareth. One glance at Carl with the silent question on my mind followed by his nod of confirmation is all I need to know that my suspicion is true.

"And we know... you're here... And we're armed. So there's really no point in hiding anymore."

We listen for a moment, hearts pounding and postures stiff, hearing the strangers' footsteps come closer and closer.

"We've been watching you. We know who's here," Gareth tells us matter-of-factly. "There's, Bob - unless you put him out of his misery already." My blood boils, and I keep my glock aimed at the centre of the door. "And Eugene... Rosita... Martin's good friend's Tyreese and Oliver... Carl..."

_**Wait... how does he know that Tyreese and I met Martin? **__Oh... Shit... Tyreese... he didn't do it, did he? _I shoot my gaze to Tyreese, horrified as I see him look back at me, wincing in guilt at the deed he never carried out and realising that today is the day it bites him on the ass...

But before I can even think how to react to this, Gareth's voice interrupts my thoughts, continuing his sentence, "Judith."

My eyes flicker to the infant, seeing her innocent expression stricken with fear. _**She can sense people's moods... **_I silently beg her to stay quiet, reading her so easily that I can see the hysteria rising in her mind... _Please, stay quiet, Judy... please?_

"Rick and the rest walked out!" Gareth states, his voice coming closer towards us. "With _a lot _of your guns," he practically sings, though his voice is level and too confident... bone chilling. "Listen we don't know where you all are but this isn't a big place. So why don't you stop this now before things get more painful than they need to be?"

I hear shuffling coming from two separate parts of the building. The door handle begins to rattle as someone tries to enter, but we'd locked it, the key now securely in Father Gabriel's pant pocket. I grip my glock tighter, hovering my index finger over the trigger, readying myself to take more than one life if it comes to it.

_**Where are they? They should be here by now. **_

Ignoring my worry, I swallow and keep my aim at the shuddering door until it stops. Moments later hearing the supply door across the chapel rattling also as someone tries to unlock it... but we had locked that too to bide us some time with the Termites.

"Look, you're behind one of these two doors and we have more than enough fire power to take down both. Can't imagine that's what you all want?" Gareth says sternly, his voice indicating that his patience with us is beginning to run dry.

I hear several guns clicking, and it makes my spine crawl.

_They'll be here. They'll be here. __**I know.**_

"How about the priest?!" Gareth addresses Gabriel, the cheer in his voice curdling my blood.

I see Gabriel tense up, his brow arching in his dread.

"Father?" Gareth says. "If you help us wrap this up, we'll let you walk away from this... Just open the door and you can go. You can take the baby with you... What do you say?"

For a moment, my heart drops as I think that Gabriel will accept, but his hand stays entwined within his beads and he shuts his eyes, refusing, or rather... forcing himself to ignore Gareth's offer.

I hear more shuffling as someone steps in front of the door, evident from the flickering shadows in the gap between floor and door as the person shifts their weight on their heels. If one shot goes off from them. If one more threat is made... I will shoot at the centre of the door just like Rick told me to... and whoever is stood there will die.

But like I feared... the stress becomes too much for the overwhelmed infant... and suddenly, before anyone has any time to stop her... Judith Grimes cries, her loud whimper flooding through The Church, instantly and irrevocably giving away our whereabouts.

"I don't know, maybe we'll keep the kid," Gareth dares to joke, amused by our number being played. "I'm starting to like this girl."

Carl drops his arms and rushes over to his sister, panicking as he hovers his hands over her as if considering holding her mouth shut in such a desperate circumstance. But he doesn't do that... instead he runs his thumb down her face, slowly and gently over and over again... and finally, she begins to reluctantly settle.

But I keep staring wide eyed at the door, my glock locked in place as it stares hungrily at its concealed target. But he walks away, and I can almost hear the laugh in his breath.

"That's your last chance right now to tell us you're coming out," Gareth tells Gabriel.

No answer, and my glare at the priest makes sure it stays that way.

"Are we done?" I recognise Martin's voice, and my hatred grows, though at him, not at Tyreese for sparing his pitiful life.

"Hit the hinges," Gareth tells his group, a slight quiver in his voice as if he truly didn't want it all to turn out this way.

I'm too close to shooting, my finger kissing the trigger. But then, like they promised...

**CHOOK.**

**CHOOK.**

Two silenced gun shots are fired within the chapel, and we all hear both masses hit the wooden church floor with an individual heavy thud as two Termites are murdered. I perk up, my breath hitching as hope and relief explodes from my being.

_**They're here. It worked!**_

"Put your guns on the floor," Rick growls.

"Rick, well fire right into that office so you lower you gu- GAH!" Gareth suddenly stops mid sentence, letting out a howl of pain at a gun shot. I think for a moment that he has been killed, but I am proven wrong when I hear the cannibal's laboured breath and heaving whimpers.

"Put your guns on the floor an' kneel," Rick orders dangerously.

"Do what he says!" Gareth commands his group, his voice wincing from his pain. _**What did Rick do to him? Where did he shoot him?**_

We all hear the Termites dropping their weapons, their panicked breathing and kneeling weight-shifts satisfying to my ears. A pool of blood growa under the door frame from the people that were shot outside, and we all watch as it slowly leaks into the office towards us.

"Martin, theirs no choice here!" Gareth barks, presumably scolding his fellow cannibal for not handing his weapons over.

"Yeah, there is," Martin replies cockily.

"Wanna bet?" Abraham's grumble is furious, and almost immediately I hear Martin dropping his gun and obeying the sargent, along with a few splutters and coughs of pain coming from Gareth.

A long, tense moment passes and I stay rigid, unable to lower my hands despite the face that I know I won't need my gun anymore. I see out of the corner of my eye Carl watching me, but I don't look at him, devoting my complete focus to what is happening outside.

"No point in begging, right?" Gareth says in bitter jest, the agony in his voice obvious no matter how humorous he is trying to be.

"No," is all Rick says.

"Still, you coulda killed us when you came in," Gareth says, "There had to be a reason for that?"

I realise that he is still holding onto the hope that Rick will spare his life, maybe thinking that he will dish out the same mild punishment as Tyreese did with Martin... but Gareth and his Termites don't understand everything that Rick Grimes has had to do to come this far, and neither do I fully... but I know enough to realise that Rick won't take him up on such a wish... not now. Not anymore.

"We didn't wanna waist the bullets," Rick answers him, the factual tone in his voice chilling my spine.

"We used to help people - we saved people," Gareth tries, his voice shaking with his pain and fear. "Things changed. They came in an'- ahh," his agony is too much and it stops him mid sentence.

But I put two and two together that no one in here knows about yet. That woman, in Terminus... she told me and Carol what the bandits did to them before they were 'made' to become cannibals. And again, I find myself trying not to feel sorry for the injured man as he whimpers in the chapel, knowing that he would have had to endure the horrors of what the woman spoke about too.

"After that..." Gareth continues, regaining his forced composure and confidence. "I know that you've been out there," he says, his voice shaking in anger now more than his fear and pain. "But I can see it... You don't know what it is, to be _hungry_."

I grit my teeth, irritated that he would be so ignorant to assume that about us...

_**But he might be right... have you ever been that hungry... **__Patrick and I were once so starved that we ate rotting fruit... So, yes... I know what hungry feels like.__**That may be... but that's not the same as eating people... imagine being that hungry? Remember the dog? The one you found in the five months separated from Patrick? The mutt that almost tore your arm off for the packet of expired jerky you found? **__Yes, I remember. I had to put my machete through her heart... __**You were hungry back then... remember? **__Yes. __**But you still didn't eat her. You still couldn't bring yourself to. **__Yes, but I was still hungry. I almost starved. But I chose not to eat her out of morality... Gareth and his Termites... they have no morality left. This world has taken it from them._

"You don't have to do this, we will walk away," Gareth offers, "and we will _never _have to cross path's again. I promise you."

"But you'll cross somebody's path?" Rick says, knowing that they will all only do this again to someone else. I hear his gun click. "You'd do this to anyone... right...? Besides..." His voice becomes lower, raspier, more dangerous.

"I already made you a promise."

Then I hear the familiar noise of my machete being drawn.

Realisation hits me over the face at what Rick meant by what he told me earlier. But I don't move. I just listen to the screams... the repeating 'shuck' of my weapon as Rick slashes Gareth with it over and over again...

For a long time it doesn't stop. For a long time everyone in the office freezes as we listen to the bludgeonous activities taking place just outside of the door.

Then Tyreese stands from beside Bob, rushing to the door.

"Ty, no," I hiss, my voice shaking with the horror of what I am hearing.

But he ignores me. "Gimmie the key," he orders Gabriel.

The priest quickly hands the key over, not wanting to create any more conflict than the storm of it he is already listening to outside.

Within moments the office door cracks open and the slashing and screaming and grunting seems to amplify. I wince, seeing Tyreese's whole posture tense up as he witnesses what is happening. My body is frozen, glock hanging limply in my right hand and shaking violently in my grasp as I listen to everything finally go quiet again, with only the laboured breathing from our attacking group to be heard, and for a moment, I try hard not to think that we were the lions in this. Not the zebras.

Tyreese moves away from the door, overwhelmed and horrified by what he has seen, and as he moves, I am at just the correct angle to finally see it all. My mind convulses in horror as I see a torn and severed Gareth, dead and sprawled across the red carpet of the chapel at Rick's feet, brain matter and eyeballs splattered across the chapel floor and benches. I see Martin, slumped to the floor with a hacked and mutilated throat. The two dead, shot men at the foot of the door and the other dead Termites over by the benches.

I watch as Michonne retrieves her katana from the female Termite's unmatched sheath, holding it out in front of her as she bitterly greets her old friend.

"It coulda been us," Rick utters.

Sasha sways slightly, dazed and murderous as she tries to summon her voice, "Yeah," is all she manages, her voice faint and breathy and horrified as blood that isn't her own runs down her cheek.

I catch a glimpse of Glenn and Tara in the middle isle, and Maggie stood beside them behind a bench, all watching blankly and just as terrorized by what has just happened as the rest of us, before my view is cut off as Gabriel leaves the office, walking stiffly in his shock and inner outrage as he stares around his blood and gut splattered church.

Rick walks into the room, shortly followed by Abraham and Sasha. Abraham checks on Eugene and Rosita, while Sasha sits silently with her brother and boyfriend.

Rick puts his hand on my shoulder, coming to me first as I am closest to him, stood like a statue in the middle of the office, glaring at me as comfortingly as his murderous state will allow.

I don't look directly into his eyes, keeping my gaze trained on the dark and wet blood splatter on his white fur collar.

"Oliver...?" his voice is dry and raw.

I drop my arms, only just realising that my hands were clasped over my mouth. I nod before he finishes asking his question, confirming that I am fine, but not entirely sure if I mean it.

So he goes to his children, "You alright?" he asks Carl as I make my way out of the office, letting my legs move of their own accord and finding that they are desperate to leave the small cooped room.

But the chapel isn't much better, so I settle with taking a seat on a bench that isn't covered in blood. I watch as Father Gabriel arches his brow, his gaze shifting fearfully between me, Maggie, Tara, Glenn and Michonne.

"This is The Lord's house," the priest mutters in his devastation.

"No," Maggie counteracts him bitterly, "it's just four walls and a roof."

Shaken by the female Rhee's words, Gabriel wearily studies her for a moment before finally looking to me, maybe for reassurance or words of comfort or disagreement. But like usual, I nor anyone else can offer him that, instead I hold his gaze in an intense vehemence that visibly strikes fear into the priests heart. But I break our eye contact before I end up taking my real distress out on him, rubbing my eyes and taking a deep breath to calm myself.

I hear someone leave the supply room and look up to spot Rick. Instinctively, I rush over to him, ignoring the way Gabriel watches me with his weary, fear stricken gaze. "Rick," I mutter, "th-they aren't back yet. Carol and Daryl."

"I know," he states, scratching restlessly at his beard before pinching the top arch of his nose. A nervous habit that I have noticed the man does sometimes when he is distressed. I almost apologise for inflicting that response, but he talks before I can. "Bob said they drove away. There's nothing we can do other than wait."

My expression tenses, "They could be anywhere," I whisper tensely.

"Exactly," he agrees dubiously, removing his hand from his nose now to rest his palm on my shoulder. "All we can do is wait... an' hope they come back."

I nod reluctantly, "Sorry," I apologise for how childish I must sound. "Yes, Sir."

Rick pats my shoulder. "Go on now," he says as softly as his rough Southern drawl allows. "Rest."

I do as he suggests, offering the most convincing half smile I can muster before heading over to a bench that hasn't got any blood near it.

Carl emerges from the office with my machete in his hands, Gareth's blood making a trail of red droplets on the floor as he walks, dripping off of the sharp, guilty blade. He goes into the supply room, glancing at me for less than a second before disappearing inside.

I consider going in there after him, wondering what he is doing in there. But I choose against it, deciding to let my legs rest for a moment longer.

Some of the other's; Glenn, Tyreese, Abraham, Rosita, Tara, Michonne and Maggie begin to move the bodies. So I help them, accepting the fact that my fatigue will have to wait. All the Termites' brains have been destroyed... mutilated... so we all know that they can't come back. But we know that we can't burn them yet either as the flames will attract walkers, and we can't just leave them outside because the walkers will also be attracted by their still warm and fresh bodies. So we all move them -well, as much of them as we can- to the wall nearest the doors, sort of stacking them on top of each other in an undignified pile... None of us suggest placing them any more graciously.

Just as I take a seat on the bench I was at before, Carl comes back out of the supply room. He was cleaning my machete for me I realise, as I see the shiny steel blade in his hands. He sits beside me, thumbing the red handle littered with his drawings.

"Here," he mumbles as he reaches over to me with his free hand and gently pulls my sheath off, tugging it over my shoulders and head as I absent-mindedly do as he wants. He places my machete back in it's home, but instead of handing the sheath back to me he places it on the bench beside him.

"Judy alright?" I ask him vacantly, pulling my beanie off and rubbing at my dirt and sweat coated hair.

Carl nods, "Yeah, she's with Dad," he answers quietly, taking my hat from my hands and placing it with my machete.

I nod, pursing my lips. _**After what he just had to do... I think he needs some time with his daughter.**_

Carl flips his hand over, bobbing it on his knee a little and I slide my hand into it gladly, weaving my fingers into his and clutching it, suddenly realising just how much his contact is soothing me. He lets out a long breath and sinks into the bench, drooping his posture so that he can lean on me and rest his head on my shoulder. I lift his hand to press my lips to the back of it for a moment, before resting our hands on his leg again.

A yawn escapes me, my eyes watering from how incredibly tired I am, and just as I begin to doze off, so exhausted that I can't bring myself to encourage us to lie down and get more comfortable, hearing Carl's light snoring that signifies that he is already drifting further asleep, someone walks over to us.

"Here," they say, and I almost have to shake my head to wake myself up again. It's Father Gabriel. He holds out a blanket to me, another under his arm. "Thought you could use these for warmth."

"Oh, thanks," I say, taking it from him and waking Carl up in the process.

The teenage Grimes grumbles irritably, but then Gabriel holds out the other blanket he has. "Here," he says again to him.

Recollecting his manners, Carl relaxes his frown and takes the blanket, "Thanks, Father," he says gratefully, still keeping up that friendliness I have only recently become aware that the teenager possesses so strongly.

"You're welcome," Gabriel says, somewhat forcing his smile. He shifts his eyes between Carl and I for a moment, contemplating something in his mind and looking like he is waiting for us to say something to him before he voices his thoughts, console him maybe, or possibly to explain the barbarity that has just taken place here to him, but his brow arches and he turns on his heel before he utters a syllable.

Carl and I watch him disappear into his office and at the same time we both look back at each other. "What do you think that was about?" Carl asks me.

I shrug, "I'm not sure," is my answer, but just at the moment I say my last syllable, puberty decides to make itself present and my voice suddenly breaks, causing my eyes to widen a little before I clear my throat as nonchalantly as I can, but inevitably, Carl notices and it earns quite a broad smirk from him. But I ignore him and continue, "After tonight... I suppose he's got a lot on his mind."

Carl purses his lips as a response, too tired to bother continuing our conversation. So instead he lays his blanket on the cold, wooden floor and slides off the bench to lie down on it. "C'mere," he says quietly to me, holding his arm out.

I would smile at him, but my whole body is too exhausted. So I practically stumble off of the bench and flop down beside the teenager, nestling my whole body into him so that we are spooning each other. He helps to spread the second blanket over us both and within moments I feel my tense body relax into his, comforted by his soft breathing as his chest expands and retracts against my back, his warm breath gently blowing over my neck.

He runs his thumb over my bicep and I turn around to face him, staying as close to him as I can and letting him lean on me a little so that all of him is against all of me. His eyelids droop in his sleepiness, flickering restlessly though, as his consciousness struggles to drift off into his slumber after the stresses of the last few hours, so tired and traumatised that his mind refuses to let him fall asleep properly.

My brow arches in sympathy for him. _Poor Grimes... _

I have very much become aware that Carl is a man to suffer in silence. He doesn't complain or easily let his emotions show, and because of that it is easy for people to simply assume that he is coping with it all on his own. But the truth is, he's only human. Albeit, an incredible, beautiful, brave human. But human all the same. He's fighting it, but it is getting to him. The difference is though... he's not alone.

So I lift my hand, placing the pad of my thumb on his hairline in the centre of his forehead. In response, almost immediately his lips curve into that beautiful, soft smile of his, knowing what I am doing even in his limbo between sleep and consciousness. So I slowly and carefully run my thumb down his forehead to his nose and over the subtle curve of it to just above his lip.

His eyes stop flickering, and I notice his heartbeat slow down.

_**Hm... Works on him, too. **_

So I do it again, and then again, until finally he is relieved of his troubles and lost into his slumber. Only temporarily, I realise that. But it is the best I can offer him right now, so that's enough for me.

I let my thumb linger over his upper lip for a moment, before gently grazing it back up the path I had taken before to his hat. I pull it off and place it above his head before letting my arm rest over his middle, stroking my thumb over the side of his spine and hearing the sound of my skin running over the fabric of his flannel shirt as I hold him.

In the last moments of my consciousness, when I am so close to falling under that I am not even sure that I succeeded in speaking, I manage to whisper a breathy "Love you," to him.

**Notes**

It was so much fun writing this chapter. Writing Oliver so horrified after what he saw was really strange, but I thought it was interesting to see how he coped with it. Carl, too. Which will be addressed later on :)

Hope ya'll enjoyed! Please leave a little review on your way out to tell me of your thoughts :)

Favourite part(s)?  
>Worst part(s)?<br>Helpful criticism is truly appreciated :D

**Preview:**** The next chapter will be another dream (mostly) chapter and their last fair wells to Bob :,( Buried troubles resurface, as, even after all this time, Oliver is still haunted by his past. The trauma of his brother and the girls and The Claimers still weighing heavily on his mind, and Carl truly learns how patient he is going to have to be for his broken boyfriend. **

I'll post the next chapter in one week :)

Don't forget to check out **Stale M&M's: The Stories of Oliver's Past**

As always,**  
><strong>Happy reading xx :_)_


	39. Chapter 39 Beloved Setenity

**inazumahunter **Haha, like Oliver said, he knows how to handle a Stubborn Grimes haha x

**Guest **Thank you very much you awesome human being! I will be posting a new chapter every week on Saturday, and this story will be caught up to the show on the Saturday after the Part 2 Premier :)

**Oliver's POV**

_It's soft and grassy, and it lies beneath my cheek, leaving deep, uncomfortable marks as I lie where I am, disorientated and confused. _

"_We let go... of all of this... an' nobody dies."_

_I struggle to sit up with bound hands, coaxed by Rick's voice. I rub the sleep... the tears from my eyes on my shoulder as they adjust to the blinding sunlight._

"_Everyone is alive right now... Everyone has made it this far..."_

"_Rick?" I mumble, squinting as I make out the man, standing tensely behind the fence of my old home in front of me._

"_We've all done worse kinds o' things jus' to stay alive...! But we can still come back. We're not too far gone."_

_Dazed and flustered, I glance to my right, seeing Michonne knelt a few feet beside me, her head low and her expression hard as a rock. Hershel is beside her on her other side, his posture and expression identical to hers. My breath hitches, my mind throttling through every horrible emotion as the familiarity of all of this runs me over like the truck used to get the three of us here._

"_We get to come back." _

_I remember this. _

_I remember Rick making his case the same way as this all those weeks ago... only, something is different... Rick... he's begging. But not just begging like he was last time... he's distraught... pleading with more desperation and devastation in his voice than I think I have ever seen before._

_I try to figure out why, noticing that all eyes and minds are on me right now... noticing that there is no Governor stood behind Hershel holding Michonne's stolen katana to his neck... noticing that I can feel something cold... slithering against my nape, like the fang of a snake just before it sinks its teeth through my skin..._

_Until finally, I realise why all that is... _

_Why The Governor is no where to be seen... _

_Why the katana isn't against Hershel's neck this time... _

_Why all eyes are on me right now..._

_The Governor... he's behind me._

_I begin trembling with terror, though, before I can possibly think of a way to act on it, Rick's voice smacks me back to focus._

_"I know. We all. Can change."_

_Have you ever regretted something so much that you would do anything to go back and fix it? Like, dropping your keys down a drain, or forgetting to set your alarm in the morning for school, or leaving your money or phone on a bus...?_

_Well, right now is nothing like that. At all._

_It's worse. Much worse. I know that me being in this position will cost my life. And I'm scared. There's no denying it. But I also know that in me being in this position I am going to save Hershel's life... or, at least hopefully save his life._

_There's the conflict. _

_In one, single, horrible, moment I actually wish that it was Hershel here instead of me. In my place like he was before. Isn't that terrible? Unforgivable? Evil...? Well, no, not really. It's instinct. Human beings are programmed to do anything they can to survive. It takes a force more powerful than that of which you value your own life to be willing to give it up for someone else's._

_But then something takes me over. That inhumanly more important thing that overpowers my instinct. _

_Family. _

_Goddamn family. _

_A simple agreement is made in my mind, a painful willingness to take this, accept it, almost welcome it, glad that I will spare a member of my family the fate that was originally his own. So I do accept it, bitterly willing to allow my own sacrifice for my family member. It punches me in the heart, so hard that I have to close my eyes tightly, feeling the sweat trickle down my bleeding temple and my heart beat hammer inside of my chest. _

_And so I wait for his whisper, letting the word float through my mind and poison me._

"_Liar."_

_There it is. The last word I hear... before a cold, sharp fang is brought down onto the crook of my neck._

_A sharp intake of breath, like sucking in a gulp of air after almost downing._

_I'm back at home in Lorton, Virginia. Sat on the edge of the back door frame with my legs crossed in front of me, the ends of my sock covered toes just touching the cool stone slabs of my back porch._

_My breath hitches and my hand flies up to my neck, finding no wound or slice or drop of blood._

_A smell makes my head instinctively snap up from the floor where I was staring before, searching with both my eyes and my nose for the source of the pleasant scent that I haven't smelt in so long that I almost couldn't place it. _

_**Bread? Fresh bread, I think... **_

_I swivel around, realising that the freshly baked bread smell is coming from my kitchen behind me. My back was against the slightly cracked opening of the door, so I lean back to push it open fully, letting my back fall to the tiled floor as the door moves with me, and then lazily, and rather indignantly rolling backwards into the room._

"_Mom?" I call as I right myself and __I stand up._

_But Mom isn't in here, though the smell remains, making me swallow the saliva in my mouth. _

_I hear something bang upstairs and I freeze as I glance at the ceiling that my parent's bedroom is just beyond of. I know my parents are still up there, just like Patrick and I left them. But I look away, ignoring them like I had to do for those five weeks my brother and I had to spend hiding here until we finally left. We never went upstairs... not ever. We couldn't bring ourselves to._

_Pushing my parents to the back of my mind, I look back at the oven, letting my stomach think for me again as I crouch in front of it. My eyes widen in awe as I see the cream-coloured, fluffy bread rising in its tray._

"_Looks good, huh?"_

_Suddenly, I swivel around to look at the voice, expecting it to be my brother... a walker and about to tare my flesh apart. But I stumble backwards in horror as I see who it really is, yelping loudly as the hot glass of the oven burns my arm. The all too familiar, irony odour of fresh blood fills my nose, blurring with the freshly baked bread smell in a way that curdles my skin. _

_It's not my brother... _

_It's Gareth. _

_In the only form I have ever seen him in before..._

_Butchered. _

_His face is cut through the forehead, brain matter oozing out of the crevice made by my machete from Rick's hand. His limbs are hacked, gashes covering them and seeming like a miracle that they are even intact with his body. His torso is slashed, dissected, with rib cage and lung on full display through his shredded clothes. His innards hang like bloody vines from the carved wound in his stomach. But despite all of this, he seems undeterred by his slaughtered state._

"_Whoa, kid. It's white bread. it's not gonna eat you."_

_I glare at him, sitting rigidly beside the oven as I hold his gaze, one of his eyes hanging from its socket. "Yeah, but __**you **__might," I hiss at him._

_Gareth scoffs, choosing not to reply to my comment and instead strolling across my kitchen and swinging open the oven door, as if he owns the place, his movement making a disturbing squelching noise as his blood drips onto the floor and smears over the handle. The steam pours out of the cooker and rises into the room, fogging the windows and the collection of metal kitchen knives that are in their stand on the counter top where they've always been. _

_If I shoot up to them now, I could grab one and kill the severed cannibal._

"_I wouldn't suggest that," Gareth reads my thoughts._

_My breath hitches, adrenaline making my skin feel like led. "What would you suggest?" I ask when I find my voice._

"_I suggest you have __some bread with me," he answers, like it's the first thing he'd expect me to do. "C'mon. Out on the porch."_

_I narrow my eyes at him, silently refusing as I press my spine against the white wooden counter side, the smooth metal handles digging into my back._

_Gareth shrugs, "No point in begging, right?" he relents, repeating what he said moments before he died only hours ago._

_I watch as he pulls out the baking tray, not even using gloves as he sets it on the stove. He takes one of the knives and instinctively I leap from the floor and shove myself into the door that leads to the staircase. I hear my parents groan from upstairs, excited by the loud bang I'd caused. But I ignore them._

"_Relax, kid," Gareth smirks, turning to the bread and cutting a few slices, staining the bread red with his blood as the fresh food soaks it up like a sponge. He goes to the counter beside the fridge and opens it, pulling out two plates. He sets them __on the stove with the bread and takes a __slice for himself, not even acknowledging me as he leaves out of the back door and takes a seat on the door frame._

_A long moment passes and I fight with my stomach, ignoring it's screams at me to eat some of the bread, but disgusted that Gareth's blood and entrails are splattered all over it._

"_That..." Gareth says, lingering on the word for a moment. "That, Oliver... is what 'hungry' feels like."_

_I glare at the back of his head, wanting to burn a hole through his split cranium for all the trouble and devastation he has caused me and my family. He still doesn't look at me, instead, he gazes over the back yard, the sun beating down on the daisy littered grass in front of him._

_**You destroyed his family, too... his home... remember?**_

_I almost growl a sigh as I watch a pool of his blood spread over the porch step and behind him into my kitchen floor, which is already stained with his blood just about everywhere else now. But then, somehow, giving into my starvation, I grab a slice he cut for me, instantly feeling the blood run over the ends of my fingers as my grip squeezes it out of the absorbent food. But I leave the plate, as if not taking that extra little bit of help from the Termite makes any difference. _

_I barge past him, scraping my hiking boot over his hacked shoulder as I do._

"_Jeeze, kid! Watch it," Gareth scolds in jest, scooting over to make room. My brush past him had caused a slab of his shoulder to peel off and hang from his arm, so he nonchalantly places it back, pressing it firmly __down over the exposed bone before taking another bite of his bread._

_I ignore him and the blood on my shoe, marching to the garden chair that has always sat on the left side of the garden against the wall. Far enough away from him, but close enough to hear anything he has to say._

_I sit, resisting the urge to stuff my face as I glare at the blood stained bread in my hand, hoping that after long enough Gareth will go away and leave me alone. But he doesn't leave, and when he finishes his bread slice, he just stares at the garden, his eyes flickering over the small view the fence gives of the tops of a stretch of hills; the in-extraordinary and minimal amount of countryside that Lorton has to offer. _

"_What do you want from me?" I ask him, succeeding in keeping my voice and expression stern despite how afraid of him I am._

"_Nothing," Gareth answers simply, still not looking at me. "Eat your bread, Oliver. You're starving."_

"_No," I growl. "Why are you in my home, Gareth?"_

"_I'm not."_

_I frown, my irritation rising as Gareth continues to be uncooperative. Still refusing to eat. "Why are you here?!"_

"_I'm not here," he retorts, glaring at the ground. "Neither are you, Oliver."_

_I stand up, throwing the bread to the grass as my tolerance of him hangs on mere threads, ready to snap at any moment. "What the hell are you talking abou-?"_

"_Look around you, Oliver!" Gareth hisses, now holding my gaze with his only dark eye and intense glare. "Look at where you are."_

_I become aware that the light has changed. What once was the sun, becomes artificial and hangs from a dull indoor flood-light that flickers every few moments. Then, without even noticing at first, the grass has turned to smooth lino and light grey walls have materialised around me, decorated with posters saying odd, generic things like, 'Anti-bullying' and 'Moving Forward In Your Education'._

_I'm in my old school._

_I look back to where Gareth was, my heart pounding in my chest and my panic almost becoming me. But he isn't there. Though, I'm not alone in what I realise is the cafeteria... _

_It's packed... with kids._

_I spin around on the spot, disorientated as blurs of young faces of all shapes and sizes whir around me trying to get to where they want to go. Recognition seems to nag at my mind whenever I try to lock onto someone's face, thinking that I have seen them somewhere, somehow, but no one stops to talk or explain to me. Quite frankly, I am just relieved that none of them are trying to rip my flesh off._

_Eventually, I manage to regain my self-sobriety, faking my nonchalance as I finally follow the main bulk of the crowd toward the canteen. Teenage and pre-teen faces babble on about things that I hardly even remember from before the outbreak; facebook, classes, phone credit, cable TV, Popular Youtubers, Lady Gaga's meat dress. Everything unimportant that seemed to make up the whole world before. _

_I don't make conversation with anyone, my social awkwardness making the simple task of just listening to them difficult. So I take a tray. It has little sections on it for the different types of food I'm guessing I'll be served. _

_I slide my empty try along the flat railing, moving with the line until I finally reach the lunch lady, who, when I glance at, I realise has a blank face. _

_Not a blank expression though... _

_No, I mean a literal, empty, blank face... Just smooth skin. No mouth, no nose, no eyes. _

_I almost leap away in horror, but no one else is afraid of her, so I force my legs not to move as I stare at her in the place her eyes would be. She scoops up some mash potatoes and drops it onto my tray, splattering the white consistency messily over more than tree sections of it. Satisfied, she then uses prongs to impale a small slab of meat before pushing it onto my tray amongst the mash. _

_But I keep staring at her as her face aims at me, disturbed as she tilts her head to one side as if she is glaring at me, waiting for me to move on and confused by why I am still staring at her. Then she starts tapping her foot in irritation._

"_Th-" I have to swallow the rock in my throat when my voice collapses on itself, "thank you, M-Ma'am," I mutter shakily, quickly making my way further along the canteen line as my pause has made quite a large gap in it. My eyes stay wide with the shock of__the unsettling scene I had just had to endure._

"_Weird, huh?" _

_I jump at a soft voice beside me, snapping my head around to see a young girl, maybe twelve or so years old with neck length, light auburn hair. Wearing a blue tee with a cartoon rainbow on it. She smiles at me, the freckles on her fair cheeks almost jumping out at me as she watches me with a pair of warm, hazel eyes. _

_I smile a fraction, suddenly recognising her as the girl on the jigsaw puzzle at The Grove. But I straighten my expression. "Uh, I think so, I mean, uh? Sorry, w-what did you say?" I get out, forgetting what she had said to me._

_The girl motions to the lunch lady in answer and I dare a glance at her again. The faceless woman looks at us, and at the same time the girl and I look away nervously. _

"_Weird, huh?" she repeats __under her breath._

"_Yeah," I agree, wincing a little from my __crawling skin. "Why... uh, why is she-?" I half ask, not really knowing how to finish my sentence._

"_Dunno," the girls shrugs, leaning forward to help herself to some strawberries. "Want some?"_

_I nod, still feeling unbearably hungry because I never ate any of the bread Gareth made. In fact, I'd almost forgotten about that completely, and Hershel... and The Governor, and still none of them are anywhere to be seen. _

_The girl grabs another handful of red, seedy fruit, trying to place the berries on a part of my tray that isn't splattered with mash potato, though she fails miserably, accidentally dropping the strawberries amongst the white, pasty mash with the meat. _

"_Sorry," she grimaces a chuckle._

_I let myself grin in amusement, finding that I like this girl. "It's fine. I'm so hungry I don't even care."_

"_Good," the girl smiles at me, showing her bright teeth in her glee as she motions her head to the main cafeteria area. She picks up her tray, stocked with her own supply of sloppy mash potato, meat and strawberries, "C'mon, you."_

_So I go with her, following her through the crowd as she chooses a table to sit at. "My name's Oliver by the way. Oliver De Luca," I introduce myself._

"_Hello, Oliver," she says, smiling over her shoulder as she gracefully weaves around tables that are filled with other kids. "I'm Sophia Peletier."_

_My eyebrows fly up._

_Sophia's brow lifts as well, though, in curiosity rather than shock and amazement like me. "You alright?" she asks as she finds an empty table and takes a seat._

_I nod as I take a seat beside her. "Yeah, It's just..." I begin, my guilt rising. "Have you seen Carol?"_

_Sophia's expression tenses a little, but she shakes it off and purses her lips, "Not for a while now. But don't worry. She'll be fine," she tries to comfort me, picking up a strawberry and bringing it to her mouth. _

_I scoop a little of the mash, trying to distract myself from my worry for Carol and Daryl as I consider to eat the gloopy meal, but I choose against it, grabbing a strawberry and about to throw it into my mouth. However, I pause as I see out of the corner of my eye, Sophia narrowing her eyes as she examines me, munching away at her strawberry as she questions in her mind why I am so worried about her mother._

_She __swallows __before talking again. __"__Don't worry, Oliver, really... Carl and the others should be here soon."_

_I freeze, dropping my hand to place the uneaten strawberry back on my tray, my eyes widening and a smile spreading over my mouth. "Really?" I ask finally, half choking on my breath in my rush. "When?"_

"_Mhm," Sophia hums as she thinks, "Carl, Penelope an' Patrick should be gettin' outa algebra about now. Mika, Lizzie, Molly, Luke an' Drippy are already gettin' their lunch, look, they're over there."_

_My eyes follow Sophia's head jerk towards the canteen line, almost instantly spotting the five children as they are served their mash potato and choice of fruit on the other side of the cafeteria. _

_A wave of nostalgia smacks me across the face and my mouth falls open. They all have their backs to me and Sophia, making friendly chatter together as they get their meal of mash, meat and fruit, purposely avoiding as much attention from the lunch lady like Sophia and I did._

_They wait for each other before making their way over, spotting Sophia as she waves her arms for them to join us._

_Molly and Luke lead, side by side in the only way I have even seen them, both alive and well._

_Mika follows after, already starting on a few peaches as she absent-mindedly makes her way for us. A lump forms in my throat, completely awe stricken as she is totally unharmed, even with one of Carol's tiny braids in her hair._

_Lizzie is close on her tail, chewing her lip as she glances around the cafeteria at the other kids, beautifully alive and well also, and my happiness to see them all is overwhelming. _

_But the fifth child... now, I had gone so long without thinking about her in the time since I had seen her before The Outbreak. The nine-year-old girl grins as she makes friendly conversation with Mika and Lizzie. Her long, strawberry blond hair that is only just a shade softer than Sophia's, rolling over her petite shoulders and swinging over her fair, freckly skin that is decorated with several, small, little moles. Her green eyes flicker to meet mine, and I smile widely at her._

"_Drippy," I mutter under my breath, the name of Penelope's little sister leaving my mouth for the first time in almost __a year and a half._

_I practically bounce in my seat from my excitement, overcome with my glee as my old friends make their way over to us. They all take a seat around the large, polygon shaped table. Not nearly as elated as me as they all take a seat, giggling and talking with themselves as they have their own little inside jokes with each other, as if going to school and eating lunch together is a common occurrence with all of us. __**Maybe it is...?**_

"_You okay?" Mika asks me, snapping me out of my ecstatic high._

"_Uh, y-yeah."_

"_You look a little out of it," Drippy says._

"_Uh, y-yeah," I repeat. My brow arches, half wanting to laugh until my stomach aches more than my hunger already does, and the other half wanting to cry and wail until I pass out. "I am, a little."_

_Drippy giggles, causing a quiet ripple of laughter between the rest of them. _

"_Oliver, you're so weird," Mika giggles in jest._

_I grin at her, picking up the strawberry I never ate a moment ago and bringing it to my mouth._

"_Here they come," Sophia says to me, and again, I fail to satisfy my hunger for what must be the hundredth time today._

_Regardless, I look around to who she is looking at._

_Quite literally, the three people my eyes fall upon are with no doubt, my three favourite people in the whole world._

_Patrick De Luca. _

_My brother, alive and smiling with that familiar under-bite that means nothing but family to me._

_Penelope Rostenkowski._

_My best friend, daydreaming in the same way that she always has as she smiles softly at something only she is thinking of._

_And Carl Grimes._

_My boyfriend, his mesmerising, blue eyes locked onto mine as he leads the way through tables towards me and the others._

"_Sorry we took so long," Patrick says. _

_I grin at him, completely astounded that my brother is alive. But instead of expressing my happiness, I force myself to stay casually nonchalant about the whole situation._

"_You didn't," Luke reassures him, chewing some of the meat. _

_Carl quickly plants a kiss on the side of my forehead as he takes a seat beside me and the others, a silent greeting taking place between us with subtle glances, smiles and flickering eyebrows._

"_What were you all doing?" Lizzie asks curiously._

_Carl looks away from me to her and opens his mouth to answer, but before he talks Penelope cuts him off. _

"_Carl was wooing over Mrs. Mueller again," she jokes playfully, earning a grin from me at the mention of the third grade teacher Carl has told me he was so fond of - the same woman that he __named his little sister after. At the time he told me about that, I had teased him a similar way that Penelope just did. _

"_I wasn't 'wooing' over her," Carl grumbles, smirking at me with his brow lifted._

"_He had to ask her to go over some of the algebra she was teaching us," my brother explains. _

"_I jus' can't get a handle on it. It's so annoying," Carl goes on, "I mean, when am I ever gonna need to know that crap anyway?"_

"_Oh, I don't know," Penelope starts with a grin plastered over her face, using the sarcasm I remember so well in her, "maybe to get a descent job when you grow up?"_

"_Not much use now," I say, "what with the apocalypse and all."_

_Suddenly, silence. _

_Awkward silence._

"_What?" Drippy asks me finally, she and everybody else either cocking a brow in confusion or frowning at my comment. "Apoca-what?"_

_My gaze snaps between them all, the buzzing chatter of the other kids surrounding our talk-less table not wavering. "Uh..." __**They don't know about any of it?**_

"_Oliver?" Carl says to me, cocking his brow and leaning a little closer with a smirk spreading over his lips, "how much pudding have you had?"_

"_None!" I scoff. "And I haven't eaten anything since all those canned tomatoes and squirrel, and I threw it all up!"_

_Carl chuckles, turning to the others with an incredulous look on his face. "He's gone crazy," he says matter-of-factly to the others, earning a wave of giggles from them all._

"_I'm not crazy," I tell everyone. "I'm hungry."_

"_Then eat," Mika smiles at me, and for a moment I can't seem to look away from her as her smile fills my heart with everything I miss so much about her. _

_But I realise that none of that has happened to any of them yet. _

_Mika hasn't been murdered by her sister. Lizzie hasn't been shot by Carol. Molly and Luke haven't been driven from their home and left alone since The Attack. Patrick hasn't succumbed to a fatal virus. Sophia hasn't turned into a walker and been mercifully put down by Rick. Penelope and Drippy haven't been gone since the apocalypse started. And Carl is still alive and beside me... _

_So I smile and look away from Mika to pick up the piece of meat on my tray._

_But then I hear her. _

_I startle, spooked and interrupted as a baby's cry echoes through my ears. _

"_Judith?" I mutter, recognising her instantly and spinning in my seat to glance behind me towards the canteen where I can hear her. She continues to cry, her wails shattering through the cafeteria. "Why is Judy here?"_

"_We need her here for lunch," Carl tells me, his voice gentle to coax me to look around at him again._

"_What? Why?" I ask._

_Carl gazes at me for a long moment, enough time for me to glance around at the others to see very guilty expressions on their faces as they eat their meal._

"_Oliver..." he begins. "Judy __**is **__lunch."_

_Instinctively, I throw the small slab of meat out of my hand, sending it hurtling across the table and barely missing Molly's head as it plummets to the lino floor. _

"_No!" I cry __in outrage._

_Carl doesn't say anything. He just picks up some of the meat on his plate... the Judith on his plate... and throws it in his mouth, refusing to look at me as he does._

"_NO!" I scream at him again, hearing Judith's wailing become louder and it turns my blood to ice. "Don't eat her!"_

"_It's what it has to be," Patrick tells me. "This is only what it has to be, Oliver."_

"_No," I gasp again, unable to say anything else in my horror._

"_Listen to what the world is telling you," Lizzie says, chewing on what looks like a tiny bicep._

"_Stop!"_

"_You're either the butcher," Penelope chimes._

"_No!"_

"_Or the cattle," Mika finishes._

"_NO! DON'T HURT HER!" I bellow, leaping up from my chair as my terror engulfs me. "PLEASE? DON'T HURT JUDITH!"_

_I start running to the canteen, ignoring the yelling from my friends for me to go back to them and eat. _

"_Don't eat her! Don't eat her! Don't eat her!" I mutter __as I run, over and over again in my desperation and fear._

_I get to the cafeteria door, bursting through. Only, I fall onto my face, hitting tiled floor that rings horrible bells of familiarity through my mind. There is a washing machine beside me, a counter on my other side, and a back door in front of me, with a small silver key with a flower key-chain on it..._

_I'm not at school anymore._

_I'm not even back at home again._

_I'm in the utility room in that suburb house._

"_... Claimed."_

_I drown in terror, hearing his horrifying voice behind me. _

_My muscles scream as I push myself over onto my back to see him, to face my terroriser. But I'm so weak, sprawled across the floor and heaving my breath as I see him. Dan. The man who molested me, tried to rape me, now stood over me as he closes the door behind him. _

_I try to scream for Carl, but no sound comes out. My mind reels, my body aches, and I'm bleeding from a deep cut on my lip. But I have to stop him. I have to stop him before he gets me!_

_My hand rises in a pitiful attempt to discourage him. "P-please, don't..." I beg weakly, too afraid to make my muscles work properly. "Don't!"_

_But he does. _

_I feel his cruel, heavy weight as he kneels on me, flipping me over onto my front again and pinning me to the freezing floor between his knees._

"_Stop your squirmin'," he sneers, shoving my jeans and underwear down to my knees._

_He's finishing what he started._

"_No," I can barely talk, repulsed and paralysed from terror and exhaustion. "No, pl-please don't. Please s-stop!" I beg, horrified as I am forced to live through what would have been my fate if I hadn't escaped that awful __day._

_I'm screaming. _

_I'm terrified._

_I'm trying to fight him. _

… _But I'm dying._

**Carl's POV**

I snap awake at a sudden elbow to the centre of my sternum.

"Agk!" I grunt, the painful sting radiating across my body as another abrupt smack across my arm shoves me back into conciseness. "Ow!"

"Stop, please!"

It's Oliver.

He writhes against me, his eyes scrunched shut with tears streaming from them and his breath heaving and loud in his panic. "Don't!" he screams desperately. "Please stop! STOP!"

I try to grab his shoulders - hold him still so that he doesn't hurt himself. But he swings over in my grip, screaming hysterically as he throws his hands out at my chest, scratching and clawing at the fabric of my shirt.

"Stop! Oliver, it's me!"

His eyes snap open, one hand gripping my shirt in his fist and the other clawing at my arm. But then he stops, recognising me and realising what he is doing. We stare at each other for a long time, panting and pumped with adrenaline.

Then the shaking begins.

Violent shaking, and Oliver's brow crinkles into an intense wince, letting out a choked sob as he pulls away, "I'm sorry. I-I thought..." his voice wheezes too much to continue.

I watch wide eyed as he struggles to sit up and fish his inhaler out from his pocket, taking a dose and then leaning forward onto his knees to settle his laboured breathing. I sit up and place my hand on his spine, resting my chin on his shoulder and feeling it shake under my jaw.

But he winces, his whole body tensing as he recoils away from me.

I stare at him for a long moment, terrified and hurting at the sight of him so afraid that he can't even hold my gaze... can't even tolerate my touch.

"You're okay," I whisper as comfortingly as my shaking voice will allow. "It was jus' a bad dream, Oliver."

He glances over his shoulder at me, wincing as he nods and mumbles an inaudible "yeah" to me. His eyes well with more tears that he refuses to let fall, flickering their direction to just behind me.

I follow his gaze, looking over the side of the bench to just catch the worried glances from everyone who can see us before they realise they are staring and all quickly turn away. Tyreese is the last to avert his gaze, staring worriedly at Oliver with a knowing and sympathetic look in his eyes. I can only guess how many times he has seen Oliver wake up like this before. Over the time on the road since The Grove and the suburb... the night terrors Oliver must have experienced probably don't even graze the surface from what this is.

Even so, I turn and look back to Oliver, pursing my lips as he glares down at his folded knees, his cheeks bright red in embarrassment as he has calmed down and had enough time to reacquaint himself with reality now.

I push a smile onto my lips, hoping that it will be of some kind of reassurance to him. He catches it, but he looks away and I see him scrunching his eyes up and tensing his mouth, letting out an irritated breath.

"I'm such a moron," he whispers to himself.

I shuffle forward, carefully resting my hand on the part where his flannel collar stops and his skin starts, as if to sort of remind him that I am still here and that he doesn't need to talk to himself right now. "Figured that out a long time ago," I joke softly, so incredibly glad that my touch hadn't scared him like it did the first time.

He cracks a sad smirk, "Ass."

I chuckle, gently stroking the back of his neck with my thumb. "You wanna talk about it?" I ask gently.

I can almost sense him rolling his eyes. "I'm fine," he answers, keeping his voice level.

I pull away and sigh, completely unconvinced and close to being offended that he thought I would fall for that. "You know, you're gettin' better at lying," I tell him quietly, and when he huffs a small chuckle I lean forward and press my lips to his neck, tentatively testing the waters. "But that's okay... I can read you like a book anyway."

Realising that I'm not relenting, Oliver finally turns his body around to look at me. "I know... Can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

I grin at him, leaning forward to gently press my forehead to his. "It's a good thing," I say confidently before leaning back again and holding his gaze. "Wanna tell me about your dream?"

Oliver makes a noise of declination, but it trails a little, meaning that he might kind of want to share with me after all. "Well, it started out really bad... then it was, just, bad. Then it was really good. But then it got really, really bad again," Oliver explains poorly.

I cock a brow without meaning to, treated to more confusion rather than enlightenment.

Oliver shakes his head, "Uh, sorry, um. I was at home, The Prison I mean... it was the day we were attacked... I was... _switched..._ with Hershel..."

I wince slightly, remembering Hershel's death, trying hard not to picture Oliver in his place.

"I... I must've died, 'cause the next thing I knew I was sat on my porch at home. _Home _home, though. In Lorton." He tries to remember, and when he does he motion his chin towards the pile of Termites that are still in the corner of the room.

I nod, waiting for him to keep talking.

"Gareth was there," Oliver tells me. "He was making bread for me."

I would probably laugh... if I hadn't listened to the cannibal get disembowelled and mutilated by my father less than four hours ago... if his stiffening and decomposing body wasn't mere meters away from me.

"He got his blood on the bread and wanted me to eat it," Oliver tells me quietly, grimacing a little. "But I didn't... I almost did, but I didn't... Then I was in school," he says, sitting up straighter at the different subject. "It was weird, Sophia was there getting lunch with me."  
>"Sophia?" I blurt quietly. "But you've never met her."<p>

"Well, it wasn't really Sophia. When I was at The Grove, before everything happened. I found a jigsaw puzzle and there was a picture of a girl on the cover. Carol told me she looked like Sophia, so, I guess the girl in my dream was just the girl on the cover who called herself Sophia."

"Auburn hair?" I ask curiously.

"Neck-length," Oliver grins, "and, big, pretty, hazel eyes, and she had more freckles than you, all over her cheeks."

I smile at my knees, enjoying recollecting my old best friend. "That _is _weird. But, good weird," I say quietly with raised eyebrows, impressed by such a coincidence. Then I relax my face, glancing at Oliver's troubled expression. "And the bad part?" I add softly.

He takes a moment to answer, averting his eyes and grimacing a wince. "It wasn't just Sophia there. You were there. Patrick was. Mika and Lizzie. Molly and Luke. Penelope and her little sister, Drippy... You were all there... having lunch." Oliver really winces now, so bad that it cuts through his sentence, but he forces himself to relax and looks at me in the eyes, holding my gaze. "Judith... I could hear her crying. Screaming... She... she was the food."

My expression and body tense uncontrollably, contorting at the disturbing thought. Oliver watches me worriedly, as if he's expecting me to think badly of him for creating such a terrible imaginary scenario. But I push my lips into a smile, reassuringly lifting my hand to cup his cheek.

"It was just a nightmare," I tell him, stroking my thumb over his skin a few times until his expression naturally relaxes at my touch. A reaction that I feel oddly privileged to be able to get out of him, given his current, dismal mood. "Did it end then? Or, is there more?" I ask.

That all too familiar shiver of dread sweeps over Oliver's pale expression and he tenses against my palm again, but he shakes his head. I know he is lying. I think he knows I know too. But I stay quiet, nodding in acceptance and dropping my hand because I understand if he doesn't want to share any more.

A moment passes.

"Carl?"

I nod.

"At Terminus. What happened to all of you?"

It's strange. Oliver had never asked me that before. Over the three days since Terminus, the whole event had sort of been forced behind us, where we were all willing to let it stay forever. Oliver has always been a patient person, ever since I had met him. It's a trait that I have realised can be incredibly useful at times, not to mention, damn well attractive too. But I guess with everything else that had happened last night, the urgency to know the full story has started to press on him.

"We got to Terminus. Me, Dad, Michonne and Daryl," I begin, subconsciously holding his hand. "We didn't want them to see us before we saw them, so we went another way. Buried some spare weapons a little way outside of the property for back up – same place you found us – and then snuck in through the back. No one was there. Not until we got in to a big warehouse-looking room with an old lady talking into the radio and a bunch of other Terminus people making those signs we;d been following."

"The old lady," Oliver says. "Was she the-"

"Same woman who we heard in the music room," I finish, nodding. "Yeah, she was."

Oliver pulls at his beanie, "All that time... They were there from the beginning until they were taken over... All that time and they were luring people in. Like pigs to slaughter."

"Yeah," I breathe, trying not to think of the hundreds of people who must have been slaughtered before we got here. "How'd you know they've been there from the beginning?"

A troubled sigh escapes him. "There was a lady at Terminus, almost crept up on Carol and I," Oliver explains dubiously. "But I held my gun to her... stopped her before she could kill Carol... She told us what happened to them. How they were trying to save people at the start. But then, bad people got in. Raped, and killed. But, the Terminus people, they took it back."

"Did, uh," I hesitate. "Did she have brown hair an' a braid on one side?"

Oliver nods.

"Mary," I say. "I met her, too. I think she was Gareth's mom. She served us... I mean, _almost_, served us."

Again, Oliver nods, only, he looks full of shame and I put two and two together and realise that he and Carol didn't spare her life.

I'm about to tell him it wasn't his fault. That he and Carol only did what they had to do. But Oliver speaks before I get the chance.

"Then what happened?"

"They greeted us. Pretended they were good people. Even got us to put our weapons down an' search us an' then let us have 'em all back again," I say, Oliver nodding every few moments as he listens. "Gareth's brother, Alex led us into the courtyard, that's where Mary served us... But Dad figured it out before we ate any. He saw Hershel's watch and Daryl's poncho and that orange duffel bag."

"So the others got there before you?"

I nod, "Yeah. They did. When Dad noticed, he grabbed Alex an' held him at gun point. Things got bad real fast. Alex got shot by Mary an' then everybody started shooting at everybody."

"I heard it," Oliver says suddenly. "I was on the tracks with Carol and Ty, a herd of walkers were coming right for us... The shots distracted them, sent them the other way."

I can't help the sudden arch of my eyebrows from my relief, learning that the terrifying experience I endured at Terminus may have just saved both my sister's and boyfriend's lives.

"Good timing," Oliver says, joking but not joking at the same time.

I nod, still slightly stunned by the bitter luck of it all. But I shake it off and continue, "Well, we ran from the shots. The snipers on the roofs were aiming at our feet, herding us towards where they needed us to go until we got to a courtyard with a big, red crate."

"A," passes Oliver's lips.

"Yeah. See that, too?"

He nods, not saying anything else.

"They put us in there, and that's how we found everyone else."

"Not exactly the family reunion I had in mind."

"No, it wasn't. But we found each other in the end," I can't help but smile softly, lifting Oliver's hand and planting a kiss on the back of his thumb.

But Oliver doesn't smile, his expression troubled and worried. "Is Carol back yet?" he asks after a moment.

I pull myself up, using the bench seat to hoist my body, hissing through my teeth a little when pins and needles attack my right leg.

I look around the chapel, searching for Carol's short, silver hair or the signature angel wings on the back of Daryl's waist coat, twisting my buzzing foot to subdue the pins and needles. But there not here.

I slump down onto the bench seat, sinking into it as my worry for the two trusted members of my family begin to dawn on me. They wouldn't have stayed out this long unless something had happened.

When I glance back at the De Luca, I don't need to tell him the unchanging news, as he has figured it out from my reaction alone. He comes and sits on the bench with me, not saying a word as we both simply stare into the back of the bench in front of us.

Our gaze lifts to Gabriel's office when we hear it quietly swing open. Sasha peers out, the gut wrenching devastation painted over her soft features. "He's asking for y'all," she tells us, as a few tired heads pop up from their resting positions.

Dad stands up, cradling Judith in his arms, who he had just changed. He glances back at me and Oliver, motioning us to accompany him as Maggie, Glenn, Michonne and Tyreese make their way toward the female Williams.

"_All..._ of you," she insists, raising her brow with a mixture of sternness and sadness to Abraham, Rosita, Eugene, Tara and Gabriel who were all hanging back, expecting not to be wanted by the dying man in the office. But they all compile after a few apologetic exchanges, appreciative all the same.

Bob lays stiffly on the couch, glancing at us with heavy eyelids and a smile tugging weakly at his lips as we all file into the room. Everyone says their individual goodbye's to him, knowing that his fever has increased and he most likely has mere minutes left before it takes him.

But, despite this knowledge, all that flows through the room is a kind of calmness... A Beloved Serenity. The kind that I have only known to come by on few occasions of my life, one occasion that stands out to me right now, is the first time I was left alone with Judith.

I was in my cell, barely a day since my mother had died in that boiler room. Hershel was off doing his own thing with Beth and Axel. My father was in The Tombs, losing his mind for the wife he had lost.

I was sat on my cot in my cell, staring down at Judith and thinking how on earth she could have been sleeping so soundly when she had been the cause of her mother's death... our mother's death.

I wanted her to pay for it. I wanted her to feel how awful she had made me feel. I had to put her down. I had to kill my own mother. For a moment, I was so angry that I was afraid of what I would do to my baby sister. But then... she opened her eyes. As if she could sense my rage and contempt for her, and she just stared, right into my eyes... Right into my soul.

A single tear rolled down her cheek. Maybe it was just that she had something in her eye, or maybe she was just staring at me for too long without blinking... or maybe she somehow knew the pain I felt... shared it with me. But it didn't matter. I ached in guilt. Knowing that none of it was really her fault, knowing that she was just as much a victim of it all as I was.

So I held her and cried my eyes out. Silently letting all of the sorrow of losing our mother pour out of me until I was done, and for a while afterwards, we just shared it together. That Beloved Serenity. Comforting each other with it until the pain was bearable again. Until we both managed to make room for it.

"You'll always be with us," Maggie tells Bob gently as she sits on the couch beside his fragile form. "You're a part of us." I can hear the tears in her voice as she takes his hand and kisses it.

My breath hitches quietly and I feel Oliver squeeze my hand in his, gently pressing his shoulder to mine to comfort me.

Losing a member of my group – family. It's terrible. The sorrow twangs in my gut, making me feel a hundred pounds heavier. But I couldn't bare it if it was Oliver on that couch, or Dad or Judith. The thought alone is enough to make me want never to go outside or let go of any of them.

Dad rests his hand on the back of my neck, glancing at me and motioning Oliver and I to leave the office with everyone else.

"Rick," Bob's weak and tired voice pauses us. Dad is about to hand Judith over to me so that he can speak alone with the man, but Bob protests. "No. Don't. Let her stay... I trust her."

Dad nods, stepping back over to the man with Judith on his hip.

"I'll be right outside," Sasha tells Bob, placing her hand in the same place as Dad's was, resting her other on the back of Oliver's neck too.

She leads us out of the office. But her contact is more for her own benefit than ours, as if she needs our support to bare the temporary parting from her dying boyfriend, and Oliver and I are more than willing to oblige to our friend's wishes.

It's the least we can offer her.

**Notes**

Fun fact: On _Talking Dead, _Melissa Suzanne McBride (Carol Peletier) explained that the puzzle on the table was actually a picture of Sophia in her rainbow tee! :D

Sorry about this chapter. I realise it gets through literally, only about 20 seconds of an episode. Again, I just needed to get that dream out of my system x

Hope ya'll enjoyed! Please leave a little review on your way out to tell me of your thoughts :)

Anyway!

Short (pettily long) explanation of the train wreck that was Chapter 39...

Hershel was swapped with Oliver to show how truly willing he would be to sacrifice himself to save his family.

Gareth... well, he was just there because the image of him so mutilated has obviously left quite a scar in Oliver's memory.

I'm not really sure what the fuck was up with the lunch lady... I had a dream about someone like her the other day and I just had to put it in there... Yep. I watch too much Doctor Who.

Sophia was there... but not there... like Oliver said, it was just the girl on the jigsaw saying she was called Sophia and Oliver's brain filled in the rest :)

Mika, Lizzie, Luke, Molly, Penelope, Patrick and Drippy were there because he misses them so much.

Btw, Drippy Rostenkowski is an OC that is better known in my other fanficiton based off of this one :) Penelope's sister, like Penelope, hasn't been seen since The Outbreak. Same old same old. :)

Judith being eaten... horrible, but it felt like it fitted what with the whole cannibalism monstrousness with The Termites.

Dan being there was because Oliver is still scared from that entire experience.

Okay, I'm done x

I'd love to hear your thoughts xx

Favourite part(s)?  
>Worst part(s)?<br>Helpful criticism is truly appreciated :D

**Preview: The group loses their first family member since they reunited. The loss hits them hard, an is only made worse when sis more of their group leave to start their journey to Washington D.C. Oliver finally confronts Tara about what happened at The Prison, and Carl's forgiveness it put to the test when he learns who she really is.**

I will finish up the next chapter if I get a few reviews :)

**Don't forget to check out Stale M&M's: The Stories of Oliver's Past**

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	40. Chapter 40 We're Gonna Need Rick Grimes

**Guest** I'm super glad that you did x

**batgirl1290 **Hahaha, you made me laugh until I was sore! Fucking love you! Haha, I officially appoint you Oliver De Luca and Carl Grimes' bodyguard. You shall be given a pair of sheers (to do the chopping of any threatening manhoods...) and your rusty (I'm not sure if that was a typo) armor will be engraved with monkey symbols like your socks :D And because you are "sexy af" you shall get infinite strength and badassery! Hahahaha thanks again for your comment. You are amazing!

**Guest **Thank you thank you thank you! Haha, I actually looked up kawaii on urban dictionary... I've always heard PewDiePie say it in his vids hahah THANKS Adore you! And you are so kawaii, too! More fluff in the future. And in around ten chapters it might even begin to get lemony... did I use that term right? Ugh, whatever. I guess you'll read soon :)

**fanfictionfanboy **Ah, eep, thank you! Here it is :)

**inazumahunter **Thank you! Yeah, poor Oliver :)

**Carl's POV**

Bob died a few minutes ago. Sasha was with him.

A little while before he parted, she went back into the office to say goodbye after Rick was done in there. She stayed with him, until... well, until he was gone. She didn't put him down though. Tyreese went in after her a few minutes later. But he stayed in there for a moment longer than her, putting Bob down himself.

Oliver took Judith from my father, letting the man console Sasha as her hysteria and devastation set in.

She still wails into his chest, clutching around my father's middle as he waits for her to settle, whispering comforts into her ear as best he can. But he knows her despair... he has lost his love too, and as he holds her all I can see is the reminder of my mother in his sad eyes.

Judith, who has slept for less than a few hours today, even less than the rest of us, becomes unsettled by the female Williams' cries. So Oliver and I wait outside away from the noise, followed by Tara, who looks just as put off by Sasha's sadness as Judith is.

But I notice that Oliver looks uncomfortable as well, though, as dismal as the situation already is... I don't think it's something he has told me about yet...

My eyes shift between the two people, after a moment realising that their discomfort is actually towards each other for some reason. So I stop at the top of the steps, furrowing my eyebrows as I observe the two members of my group.

Oliver coos to Judith, trying to ignore his uneasiness as he stops at the bottom of the steps and leans against the railing of the banister on the left side. But Tara hesitates for a moment, tensing her hands as her legs seem to try to stop by the banister opposite Oliver, but it's as if her mind and body want to keep walking. But she does stop, shifting her weight uncomfortably on her hips as her gaze shifts everywhere other than the De Luca, flickering from the floor, to the church bus, to the tree line, and even to me a few times.

Completely confused and forcing myself not to intervene, I keep watching them for a moment, keeping my body and head averted from them, but with a kind of obviousness (that they are both aware of) that I am still listening.

Then, finally, Tara makes eye contact with the teenager.

All three of us hold our breath without meaning to as the intensity of the world suddenly sky-rockets, and the only sound that we hear is Sasha's whimpering still coming from inside of The Church.

"I'm sorry," seems to suddenly tumble out of Tara's lips, looking like her statement has caught her off guard as much as it has Oliver and I.

But Oliver doesn't say anything. I watch as the colour drains from his face and he locks his eyes onto hers relentlessly. Even Judith is silent, her gaze snapping between the two of them.

"I'm sorry," Tara says again, her voice shaking and more desperate.

Oliver's mouth quivers as he tries to summon his voice.

"I-I didn't know," she mutters before he has the chance to explain his thoughts, her brow arching as she takes a small step closer to him in her guilt, wiping her hands on her jeans as if she is trying to wipe the remorse off of her.

Oliver doesn't recoil and step away from her advance like I thought he would, he just keeps holding her eye contact, Judith still on his hip as he continues to try to form his words, and after a tense moment, he does.

"It's okay... I-I understand."

But Tara doesn't accept his words, shaking her head and holding her arms around her middle as if she is cold or something. "No. No it's not. You don't understand. I... I was there... at... at-"

"I know," Oliver interrupts her. "I know you were at The Prison. I remember you, Tara."

My brow knits into a tense frown, suddenly realising what they are really talking about. Every nerve in my body goes static and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"I remember you when that guy... Mitch, dragged me out of the camper van and threw me in the truck," Oliver says, his expression calm now... accepting. "I remember you watching as he did the same with Michonne... and Hershel... I remember when Rick spoke to you through the fence... 'Pony Tails' he called you... And I remember how afraid you looked. How confused... and how much you looked like you didn't wanna be there... with him. With The Governor," he tells her, holding her eye contact for a long time.

I can feel the ends of my fingers twitch against the handle of my gun, hatred boiling through my veins as I glare at the woman.

"You did what you did, and it happened. All of it," Oliver says. "But it's done now. It's over."

He pauses as he props Judith up a little higher on his hip, stroking his hand over her head a few times until she rests her head on his chest. He glances at me, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth that settles my expression almost immediately, then looks away and focusses on Tara again.

"I forgive you," he tells her. "We can start over now. Okay?" he says, repeating what I had told him last night.

Tara stares at him, moved by Oliver's forgiveness in her as tear runs down her cheek, "Yeah," she sniffs, quickly wiping her tear.

Then she does something that takes both Oliver and I by surprise. Tara extends her fist towards Oliver. For a moment, Oliver just stares at her closed hand, a slight incredulous arch in his eyebrow. But Tara motions her head to her extremity again. "Pound it," she says softly, her voice catching slightly from her emotions and a small, smile tugging at her lips.

So Oliver does, raising his fist to hers and bumping their knuckles together, letting out an awkward, breathy chuckle as he does, no doubt this is the first time he has done such a gesture since he was a kid.

Satisfied, Tara smiles and glances at me, her expression straightening as she sees that I am still slightly frowning at her.

But who can blame me? I have just learnt that this woman helped destroy my home. This woman was part of the reason that I believed my sister to be dead for so long. This woman was part of the reason that I was driven out of my home, to that suburb house, which eventually led to Oliver almost being raped, and then me losing him. How can she expect me to forgive her?

But I catch Oliver's eyes. He doesn't say or do anything. But I can tell what he is thinking. He wants me to forgive her too. So I glare at him, tensing my mouth to make my reluctance apparent. But Oliver doesn't relent, and he raises his brow, silently telling me that I have no place to be angry at Tara if he isn't himself.

A long moment passes as I sigh and glare at the floor, knowing that he is right, and that Tara was just as much a victim as all of us... So, I relax my expression, looking back at her and pursing my lips into a tense smile in exchange, nodding to her.

She hesitates, but then reaches up the steps to me, stretching her fist out to me like she did to Oliver. I almost roll my eyes, but I see Oliver give me a look of comforting encouragement out of the corner of my eye, so I lean down and gently bump my knuckles with hers.

"We cool?" she asks us both quietly.

I sigh, but after a moment I move my mouth into a small smile and nod, "Yeah," I say truthfully.

"We're cool," Oliver finishes, smiling at the woman.

I hear the door of The Church move, and one by one everybody else files out of the chapel.

Tyreese is carrying Bob, carefully lifting his body through the doors and down the stairs. Sasha follows, carrying a ball of twine, and she and her brother head over to the graveyard together. Eugene heads straight to the bus, leaning against the white surface with the same blank expression I have grown to get completely used to from him by now. Abraham stands a few yards away, waiting patiently as Dad, Glenn, Maggie and Tara circle around him and listen to what he has to say.

**Oliver's POV**

Over in the graveyard, Tyreese starts digging the graves. The plural is necessary, because it turns out that we aren't going to just burn the Termites. Rick decided to bury them along with Bob, figuring that after everything it was the right thing to do... because after all... we are still human... if we delve deep enough.

Sasha binds the last few lengths of string around the cross she had made for Bob, her brow furrowed and expression drained, with Bob's wrapped and covered body laying next to his half-dug grave beside her. The other Termites are led a little way away, again, rested a lot less graciously than their living consciences would've probably preferred. But we allowed them the dignity to have a sheet covering their bodies.

I stand with Carl and Judith by the banister, trying to ignore the ache in my chest as while the other's gather over by Abraham, listening as he speaks to Rick.

He hand's the Grimes a road map. "Here's our route to D.C." Abraham says. "We'll stick to it as long as we're able. If not well... you got our destination. Once Eugene gets to the big brains left up there things're gonna bounce back. This group should be there for it... You should be there for it."

"They will be," Maggie confirms.

"Yeah," Michonne backs her up, "we will."

Rick glances behind him at them both and Glenn, "We will," he says confidently, looking back to Abraham and gesturing the map to himself.

Abraham smiles and nods, before turning on his heel. "Let's go!" he declarers, as Eugene and Rosita follow him to the bus.

I watch as everyone says their fair wells, my nostalgia and worry for Maggie, Glenn and Tara's departure leaving me physically hurting in the pit of my stomach as I try to keep my expression relaxed.

Glenn comes over to me, at first shaking my hand, but the gesture automatically turns into a natural bear hug. He pats my back, muttering a "We'll see you all again," before pulling away and giving me a comforting smile.

Then Maggie is hugging me, almost immediately after Glenn moves off to say goodbye to Michonne and Rick. I wrap my arms around her middle, furrowing my brow as I rest my chin on her shoulder and desperately holding back my tears.

"Stay safe," I tell her, praying that my words stay true until the next time we meet.

I feel her nod into my shoulder. "You too, sweetie," she says in her beautiful Southern Drawl, one that I hadn't ever taken the time to appreciate until now.

We pull away, and she goes and says goodbye to Carl. I catch Tara's glance at me, offering her a smile as I walk over to her and envelope my arms around her shoulders. She is taken off guard for a moment by my hug, but I decide that I am done with passing up an opportunity to say goodbye to anyone anymore. So then, after a moment, she sighs, her breath catching slightly, and embraces me back, tightly, meaningfully.

Without needing words, a moment later we part, exchanging a small smile before she leaves and boards the bus with the others.

Finding Carl's hand, I stand with him on the steps, maintaining my pained smile to Maggie, Glenn, Tara and the others as the bus engine rumbles into action, and as the vehicle pulls out of the lot, I keep my eyes on it for as long as possible, and long after the tail lights have disappeared through the tree line and down the leaf littered road, my eyes only leave their position when I feel Carl finally pull be back towards the doors of The Church.

I purse my lips at him, hesitating. "I'm gonna go see if your dad and Ty need any help."

"Okay. I'll be inside," he nods, letting go of my hand to hold his sister, cooing to her as he goes into the building.

The walk to the graveyard is longer than I thought, heavier too somehow. With the loss of Bob, the memories of The Termites and the departure of six more of our group is weighing immensely on all of us.

"Oliver," Rick says, wiping the sweat from his brow and leaning on his shovel, stood in a grave that he has only just started.

"Was wondering if you wanted a hand?"

He nods, motioning to a spare shovel on the fence.

I grab it and go to work on the Earth, though, the three of us dig for only a few moments before Rick speaks again.

"I never asked how it was for you both. Gettin'a Terminus."

I stop digging, my eyes automatically locking on to Tyreese as I watch the nostalgia and horrible memories roll through his expression all at once.

"It killed me."

Over those six days after The Grove. I had wondered if there was something more... something deeper in Tyreese's past that had made the blow of Mika and Lizzie's death so unbearably terrible for him.

It was terrible for all of us. So terrible.

For me it was like losing my sisters, as bad as it was loosing Patrick, only worse because I still feel like there was so much I could have done to save them.

Carol, it brought back her terrors of her own daughter, and she dealt with it by forcing herself to stay strong... and evident by her leaving... she's still hurting.

But Tyreese, it's almost like that with him too. Over and over again I have wondered if Tyreese once had a daughter or son of his own... It isn't unlikely. Yes, he and Sasha had never mentioned anything about a child being in his life, but I also know that Tyreese never had much to do with Judith at The Prison, though, in the time I was with them, I don't ever remember Carol having to teach him anything about caring for her. Granted, I did miss four days before they found me, and the teaching could have easily taken place before then. But even so, Tyreese had always been very skilled in caring for the infant and he was very tolerable and parent-like to Mika and Lizzie.

"No it didn't," Rick replies to him, though he doesn't press, realising that Tyreese is too traumatised by it to share and being gracious enough not to ask me either out of respect for him.

So the three of us go back to digging.

I wont ever ask Tyreese if he had a child. His refusal to talk about the girls is enough to know that he wouldn't stand talking about his own blood...

Finally, six more graves are hollowed a few meters away from Bob's grave.

"Ty an' I've got this," Rick tells me.

I'm panting slightly, trying to ignore my tightening airways. "You sure?" I ask, wiping the sweat from my forehead and upper lip on my sleeve.

"Yeah. Thank you."

"Okay," I say, climbing out of the second grave I had just finished and about to head to The Church.

"Oliver."

I turn to Rick, seeing him holding out the road map that Abraham gave him.

"Keep hold o' this, would you?" he asks.

I nod and take the smooth paper, gripping it between my index and middle finger as I go back to The Church to find Carl again. But suddenly, I almost rip over my feet when I notice the large, red letter on the side of the building.

'**A**'

Written in blood.

Bob's blood.

Over the wall of The Church.

My breath hitches and I almost stop in my tracks. But I force myself to keep moving, staring at the letter – the same letter that was on all those doors and on that train freight at Terminus.

Their mark.

Leaving it everywhere we go like a brand on a cow...

_You're either the butcher... or the cattle._

I shake my head clear, climbing up the steps and quickly slipping in though the doors.

I see him. Carl Grimes.

Instantly my heart beat begins to settle and my shoulders relax. He is sat at the bench we slept under, already having put Judith into her basket and is now feeding her her formula.

I take a seat behind him, staring at the folded road map and twirling it in my hand. _**The route is mapped on it now... I wonder if it'll go through Lorton? **_I catch Carl's glance at me and I meet his gaze, trying to play off my curious behaviour as nothing. So I glance at my beanie. Carl takes the hint and grabs it from behind Judith's basket before handing it over to me, multitasking as he feeds her at the same time – which still manages to impress me.

I put on my trusted hat, grateful for that familiar comfort as I slip it over my hair, and then I take a dose of my inhaler, sighing when my windpipe relaxes again. But my focus returns to the road map, taking a deep breath as my curiosity gets the better of me.

So I unfold it, hearing the clapping of the paper as I unravel its secrets.

I see the message that Abraham has left Rick on the map, smiling without realising it.

"What is it?" Carl asks.

I read it out loud to him, "Oh, uhm, Mr. Ford, he wrote; Sorry, I was an asshole. Come to Washington. The new world's gonna need _Rick Grimes_."

Carl smiles. But I avert my eyes back to the map, letting my gaze follow the thin, dark, red line that tracks the route Abraham, Eugene, Rosita, Tara, Maggie and Glenn intend to follow to D.C. and sure enough... it goes right through Lorton around 20 or so miles before it stops at Washington.

"Thinkin' about home?" Carl's voice pulls me out of my thoughts, reading them in that way he does.

My head snaps up to him, trying to look as innocent as possible, but I give up, knowing full well that to try and keep anything from the intuitive Grimes would be completely futile. So I nod.

"Yeah," I say, "but, it's no biggie."

Carl's eyebrows flicker upward slightly, unconvinced. He stays quiet for a moment, examining my expression before talking.

"Your parents?" he predicts softly.

I almost roll my eyes, convincing myself for a moment that his statement isn't true, but I realise that my parents are still why I am so fixated on my home town. "Yeah. We'll be going right through. Home is about ten minutes off of the highway."

I notice something flicker in Carl's expression, the same expression that tells me that the teenager has had an idea that he doesn't know if he should voice.

"What?" I ask him.

Carl sighs, pursing his lips sympathetically. "Well, if we'll be going through there anyway, and... you say they'll still be there..."

He stops talking, expecting me to catch on to what he is talking about, and even though I think I have, I stay quiet, wanting to hear his proposal before giving my thoughts on it.

"Would you wanna go back, Oliver...? Back home to put your parents down?"

I stare at Carl for a long time. Weighing out the motives for doing this. _Do I want to? __**Yes. **__Why? __**Closure... Like Carl says, Mom and Dad are still there. Walkers. You can't leave them like that forever.**_

"Yes."

A small smile spreads across his expression and he lifts his free hand to rest it on my shoulder. I dip my head, a small smile on my lips as I silently think of the relief that finally putting my parents down could offer.

"I can't make any promises though," Carl says rationally.

I hold my breath, staring at him as he talks.

"We can only do it if the circumstances go our way. But even if it does, we'll need permission from Dad to stop the journey for a little while to get to your house. But we will do it... One day."

Those words again. "One day," I repeat in a whisper, like with travelling to The Grand Canyon... one day. Neither making a promise or condemning it, but letting the idea of it float in the air. But it's enough for now. It's enough for us.

_~ Nightfall ~_

For almost the whole day, minimal words are exchanged between our remaining group that consisted of more than a few syllables at a time. Mourning has definitely embedded itself into our lessening family at the moment. This being only a month since we all met him, the loss of Bob has still hit every one of us all a lot harder than I thought it would. Don't get me wrong though. I mean this not in a way that I thought Bob was of no importance. I just had never had much time to know him. I respected him, and we were on fond terms with each other. I just wasn't expecting to feel so upset by his death as I am. No tears. Just a deep sorrow that looms over everything I seem to do or say.

But that is what losing your family does to you. It didn't matter that none of us were related to the man or that we knew him just less than a month. As soon as he walked through our gates, greeted our people, answered Rick's three questions that week before the day my brother died... Bob Stookey has been a part of the family.

"I'm gonna put 'er down," Carl announces quietly as he stands up from the bench to carry his sister over to her basket.

Judith was sleeping a few hours ago, but Rick pointed out that if she slept for too long during the day she wouldn't be tired enough to sleep at night, and none of us want a crying Judith all night, so Carl and I have been working hard to keep Little Ass Kicker awake all day, which is what we were doing before, as the infant was happily babbling between us as Carl and I lay on the floor muttering to each other things that both of us are too tired now to even remember.

But it has been tough.

For one, Carl and I can't sleep at all even though we are on our last legs, also, because Judith is absolutely exhausted after the events of last night too, and has been very antsy all day from us keeping her awake.

But it is dark now, so he carefully lowers the baby into her basket, supporting her head because the poor infant is barely able to hold it up herself in her tiredness. Then pretty much as soon as her body melts into the soft blanket, she is out like a light. But regardless, Carl tucks her in like the big brother he is so good at being, and then runs his thumb down her nose just the way she likes. He smiles as he gazes at his sister, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead before coming back over to me.

Without a word he lies down beside me and faces away, removing his hat to leave it above us. I know that he wont sleep. But I know that he doesn't want to disturb me by talking, under the delusion that I'll be able to summon sleep any easier than he can. But I appreciate his gesture all the same, staying quiet and trying to blank my mind, and just then, Gabriel walks past and heads out of the front doors.

I listen, making out him quietly greeting Michonne, who has been out there on watch for a few hours now, before I can't hear them anymore when The Church doors close behind him.

I rest my head on my arm, gazing with heavy yet restless eyes up at the ceiling to observe The Church for a moment, listening to what everyone is doing. But like Carl and I, everyone else is trying to rest but unable to after the horrors of everything we have been through.

I saw Sasha go into Gabriel's office a while back, and one look under the bench to see, my eyes fall upon Tyreese as he sits outside waiting - guarding her, and it's all I need to know that she is still in there mourning.

Scanning under the bench more, I see Rick, sitting at a bench nearest the end of the chapel with the coloured windows, quietly going over everything that we have all been through these past twenty-four hours. Working it all out in his head in that Grimesey way. Figuring out what we need to do next, and how long we will wait for Daryl and Carol and everything else that I don't want to think about right now.

So I look at Carl, led beside me with his head rested on his arm, causing his hand to stick out behind him towards me, ruffling his long, dirty hair against his arm.

His name hovers at the end of my tongue, unsure if maybe he has managed to fall asleep, though, suddenly wanting to talk to him more than anything, to see his face, to hear his voice.

But it is as though he can sense me asking for him, because he rolls over to glance at me. He gives me a knowing look with the same focussed expression his father harboured, and, for a moment, all I can see is Rick in him.

I try to curve the sides of my lips into a smile to reassure him. "Hey."

"Hey," he repeats. "Can't sleep, either?"

I shake my head, about to speak. But I realise that I don't really need to.

We watch each other for a moment, like, really watch. Is that strange? Well, if it is, then it doesn't feel strange. All I feel is comfortable, safe, soaking in those blue saucers and letting them sooth me, noticing the slight wateriness of his tired eyes. The skin under them has darkened ever-so-slightly over the weeks since The Prison, much like mine I can guess. They aren't bags, but they are definitely tired and worn, after seeing more horrors than anyone should see in their whole life time.

I'm not even sure when I had begin stroking his cheek. Though, I don't question it once I do notice, continuing to gently and carefully trail the ends of my fingers over his forehead, tracing his eyebrows, his lips, the slightly dark circles under his eyes. He closes then as my fingers linger over his eyes.

When I remove my hand, Carl doesn't open his eyes again, instead, he shuffles closer and buries his face into my chest, wrapping his arms around my ribs and possessively gripping the back of my shirt. I smile, his gesture kind of reminding me about one of those baby chimpanzees holding onto their mother's torso, which I also read about in the same African Wildlife book with the zebras.

But just then, as I wrap my arms around me too, Gabriel comes back into the chapel again. I don't look around to him, not really thinking anything of his entrance for almost complete lack of interest in the man all together, especially after his confession.

But I realise that not everyone else has had the same response, because Carl sits up, staring in alarm at the priest, and when I prop myself up a little I see everyone else staring at the man as well, which causes my interest to perk up instantly and I snap my head around to look at him.

"Sorry," Gabriel apologises, his brow arching in the same fearful way it always does.

"What is it?" Rick asks, noticing the way the preacher is pinning his back against the wooden doors.

Gabriel throws his thumb over his shoulder and shrugs, trying to pretend that he isn't completely scared out of his wits. "Probably nothing," he says timidly, but when we don't relent with our staring he continues. "Uh, we just, h-heard something. Uh, M-Michonne's got it, though."

But Gabriel trails off as Rick marches towards the man and out of the door to assist the woman. As we all know that 'heard something' means 'danger', especially lately, unlike Gabriel who seems to be trying to take the whole situation too lightly, which nobody appreciates at all.

I am up before the door closes, propping myself into the gap before it shuts and holding my arm out behind me for Carl and the other's to wait inside for a moment. My gaze follows after Rick into the gloom of the tree line.

I can hear him talking, but his voice is muffled in the rustling of the tees and the warm, Winter breeze of the night. So I listen to the footsteps tensely, hearing them coming back towards The Church over my thumping heart beat.

My hand grips my glock, ready to pull it from my holster and take aim if I need to.

"What is it?" I hear Tyreese behind me inside of The Church, noticing my hand clasping my weapon.

But then I see them all.

I sigh and my shoulders relax as I watch as Rick and Michonne emerge from the tree line, their expressions filled with relief, yet something else that makes my mind reel and heart choke on its beats.

To my relief, Daryl follows, and a smile so wide that my cheeks almost feel caught off guard erupts over my expression, half fighting with myself not to run up and hug him as he follows Rick and Michonne. _**I **__**think its pretty damn safe to say that the Dixon would definitely not appreciate that.**_

Though, Daryl doesn't smile back, instead he averts his eyes from me, almost as if he is pained by my happiness. He glances behind him for the fourth person I can hear, convincing myself that I know who it is even though I fail to pick up her precise and soft footsteps, instead hearing rougher and uneven footsteps, as if the beholder has a limp. But I push my doubt away.

_**Come on, Carol...**_

But the fourth person is not Miss Peletier.

It is a stranger who moves into the moonlight, his face dark and bruised and unfamiliar. My expression drops, along with my heart and stomach.

**Notes**

Updated a day early because I am suddenly busy all weekend :) with no internet, but I will be back Monday to update **Stories of Oliver's Past **:)

I just had to have Oliver and Carl get a fist pump from Tara. It has literally been a fantasy of mine since I started this fanfiction hahaha

**Preview: The return of Daryl is an immense relief to everyone, but how will Oliver react now that Carol has not returned with him, and furthermore... who is this dude taking her place!? Also, Oliver and Carl become aware of just how cruel their strange new world is when they are forced to make a difficult decision, putting more strain on their relationship than ever before.**

Also! I am going to draw a cover photo for this story. I just need to pick a scene from it. So, you guys, what has been your favourite scene in this whole story so far. The one with the most suggestions or the one I am most confident to draw, I will sketch it and have it up by the season 5 part 1 premier :)

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	41. Chapter 41 Be Here With Me

**Bane 2014 **I realise that a lot of you want there to be smut in this story, but the truth is, it would be out of character for them to go right ahead and do that stuff right now. The circumstances aren't the best, and they aren't particularly going to fool around with everyone in such a close perimeter. Prying eyes are said to be not the most romantic thing in the world. But eventually (soon) the boys will get there time alone together, and it will be worth the wait (I hope) :) But the story is more important to me than the smut, so, their sex life isn't what I am focusing on, not right now at least, so I am just keeping the story legit and believable and as entertaining as I can. Hope that's okay xxx

**The Flash Fanatic **Aww, thank you! Glad you are enjoying it! Means so fucking much!

**inazumahunter **Thank you xx I will see what I can scribble up x

**Oliver's POV**

"Carol," passes my lips on a breath.

My eyes widen as I scan the tree line behind them all, dread crawling over my skin like diseased cockroaches. I meet Rick's eyes, silently pleading him to tell me that she isn't far behind, that she's just stopped to tie her shoe laces or something. But he takes my shoulder and leads me inside without a word.

My body tenses as I grip the back of a bench and listen to everything they have to say, unable to talk as everything passes through my ears and racks inside of my head like freezing marbles.

"What happened to you two out there?" Rick asks Daryl dryly, trying to make sense of everything in his mind.

"Saw a car out by the road last night. Carol an' I followed it."

"Why?" Rick demands, his voice drawing out in his frustration and confusion. "Damn it, Daryl. Things got bad here. We needed you."

"They took Beth."

Everyone perks up, our hearts leaping to our throats at the long lost and thought dead name as it buzzes into our minds again after weeks of being locked away and buried.

"What?" Rick asks.

"The car that kidnapped her back 'fore I saw ya'll the night 'fore Terminus. It had a white cross in the back window," Daryl explains. "Car we saw las' night was the same one." As he speaks, my expression widens and furrows as I try to put the jigsaw puzzle together in my head. I had no idea that Daryl got out of The Prison with Beth. _**How many more of my family got out that I don't know about? **_

"And she's still alive?" I pipe up, finally finding my voice again.

Daryl nods, about to answer verbally but the stranger cuts him off.

"Yeah. I was with her at Grady for a little while. She helped me escape. If it weren't for her I'd still be there," he tells me, as if he expects me to know what he is talking about. He notices my confusion and is about to elaborate for all of us, but then Sasha talks.

"What's your name, kid?" the younger Williams asks the stranger who looks less than a few years older than Carl and I.

"Noah," he answers her, looking as though he is considering offering his hand to shake, but he goes against it when she doesn't make any hint she is willing to comply.

"I'm sorry," Father Gabriel says timidly, "who is Beth?"

"She was in our group," Tyreese tells him. "Lived with us at The Prison. Good little lady." he trails slightly. _That was what he used to call them... The girls. _"A friend."

Rick grits his teeth, mulling over all of the questions he needs to ask the teenager, but he turns to Daryl, concluding that he needs to find out the rest of his story first. "Where is she, Daryl?"

"And Carol, why isn't she here?" I can't help but ask.

"Grad-"

"We were tryina get away from the officers back in Atlanta." Again, Noah interrupts before the red neck can answer. "But Carol got out of the building before us. Ran out into the road an' got hit."

My expression drops. "She was shot?!"

Noah shakes his head, "No," he says, and for a moment the relief is so strong that I am scared I will pass out, "no. She jus' got hit by a car."

The relief I had felt is again trampled by worry, though, this time accompanied by growing irritation at Noah, which by my tense-jawed-glare at him and his worrisome-looking stare at me, tells me that he realises this.

"I mean. I-I don't think she's dead yet," he tries again, fumbling with his words. "They took her... so she'll be gettin' cared for 'n' then she'll work for 'em. Uh..."

I'm just about ready to slug this idiot if he doesn't learn how to explain himself any better!

"Noah, shut up a sec," Daryl scolds him dismissively. "Carol," Daryl addresses all of us again, though, lingering his gaze on mine for a moment longer as if to reassure me. "She's at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlan'a. She got pretty bruised up a few hours 'fore when we hadda sit out a truck fall from a bridge. She wasn't in good shape when the car hit her after. But Noah here, says the Doc at The Hospital'll do his bes' to help her. Said tha's what he did for Beth when she bashed up 'er wrist. All we gotta do is get in there 'n' get 'em both out."

_**Since when has anything ever been that simple?**_

Rick nods, doing well to keep up after all of this information being thrown at his face. "What's it like down there?" he asks after a moment. "Atlanta."

Daryl's eyes shift between Rick's, giving a small shrug. "Not much better than we left it. Less walkers on the streets, but pretty brutal in most places."

Daryl looks around the room a moment, searching for the rest of our group, and when he doesn't see them he looks back to all of us, his expression tensing as he finally takes a moment to notice the devastation that must still be plastered over our expressions after everything that has happened to us. Then he sees the dry blood stains, and his gaze shoots to Rick in concern.

"What happened here?"

Rick holds Daryl's gaze with equal intensity, "Gareth. Him an' five others from Terminus came here. Followed us. We lost Bob," Rick stops to glance at Sasha, who does her best to bottle her sorrow, but she breaks and has to leave us to retreat back into the office again, followed by Tyreese.

"Termites... Is 'at them?" Daryl motions his head to the blood stains on the floor of the chapel, putting two and two together.

Rick only nods, glancing at his boots solemnly as what he did last night plays through his memory like it must have been all day.

"Glenn? Maggie? The rest...? They dead, too?"

"No," Rick answers. "They left for Washington this morning while we stayed an' waited for you."

Daryl doesn't say anything as he thinks it all over, nodding solemnly.

"Alright," Rick says after a moment, looking back up to us, "we'll make a plan," he says, pausing a moment before turning to the new youth as he listens quietly to the conversation. "Carol 'n' Beth... you're sure they're at The Hospital?"

Noah nods, "Yeah."

"Alright, we'll leave in the mornin'," Rick nods more confidently than he really feels. "Noah, you can help us get through to find them without bein' seen. You know their schedule - their routine, right?"

"I've been livin' almost a year under their routine. I know it like the back o' my hand by now."

Rick nods gratefully, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips as he examines the youth. "Okay," he says, satisfied that we can temporarily trust him for this. "We're gonna need you to keep that knowledge. All our lives depend on it."

Noah's expression drops at Rick's words for a moment, suddenly realising the extent of how much responsibility he now is forced to hold. But he sucks up his worry and nods, trying to stop his eyes nervously flickering at all of our faces.

**Carl's POV**

So Dad, Daryl, Michonne and Noah make a plan. Sasha volunteers. Tyreese does, too. But it's Oliver who steps in first, putting his opinion into the plan and helping to come up with something that's actually pretty freezable. Though, after a moment it became obvious that he isn't merely giving his opinion, but volunteering to help on the trip as well...

"Oliver," Dad warns when he realises this too.

"I owe it to her to go."

"I do too, but I'm not lettin' you come w-"

"I'm sorry, but you can't stop me, Rick..." Oliver tells him gently. "I can help. I'm more use to you our there and you know it."

My expression tenses, expecting and waiting for my dad to reprimand him, and for a moment he looks angry that Oliver is bold enough to defy him...

But he relents.

"That is true," he says grudgingly.

I jaw locks.

"He'd be a reliable asset," Michonne says, "what with the skills he's got already."

I stare at her, too stunned to even process any of this yet.

"He's good, Rick. I've seen it," Tyreese says.

"I don't want you comin'," Dad says, and I almost feel relieved, but then he keeps talking. "But I'm not your father, I realise that, no matter how much I act like it... You'll come... But you'll be part of our team. You'll have to stay alert. Do exactly what we say and stick with us at all times. No one gets left behind. But you gotta make sure you keep it that way."

"Yes, Sir."

_No! _I thought I'd said it out loud, but my mouth simply hangs open in outrage. But I force myself together again and finally find my voice. "If Oliver's going then so am I."

"No," Dad growls at me, quietly but sternly. "I'm not lettin' you both go out there."

"Dad."

"No! End of discussion for you, Carl."

I look to Oliver, desperate for him to back out of this for me, only for him to avert his eyes, glaring down to the floor until I have to look away from the pain in my chest. I want to order Oliver stays here too, that having him go along would only make things more difficult. But I know it isn't true. I know that Oliver will be more useful out there helping than in here waiting like I'm being forced to. So I don't pretend that I have any real choice in how it is that Oliver lives his life, and I force myself to stay quiet, trying not to think of all of the worst case scenarios and terrible things that they could encounter as they all go over their intricate plan together.

It isn't until the plan is set and everyone is tense and worried but ready for what the morning has to bring, that I finally get a word in on it all.

Everyone is in the chapel going about their own business now. Tyreese silently consoling his sister, Dad talking to Noah a little more, Judith sleeping in her basket, Daryl talking with Michonne outside on watch, and Gabriel... well, preying I guess.

"Oliver," I address him curtly, ignoring the way my father and Michonne snap their gaze up to me. So I go into the office, gesturing Oliver to join me in private. "Help me with the supplies," I tell him in a monotone, but by his solemn expression I know that he realises the real reason that I have asked for him.

I close the door behind us, sending the room into complete darkness.

"Lamp – in the corner," is all I say.

"Got it," Oliver mumbles and a moment later the small room illuminates as Oliver turns on one of Gabriel's solar lamps. It's dim, but it's enough.

We order the weapons first, kneeling on the floor as we sort through the array of deadly objects, working in silence for a long time before The Elephant In The Room becomes too much and demands to be recognised.

"Are you mad at me?" Oliver asks as he places a hunting knife into a small, white, roll up knife case.

"No," I answer, not looking at him as I slide another switch blade into the case. "Not at you."

"Then who?" he asks quietly, thumbing at the corner of the white fabric.

"No one," I answer truthfully, "jus' at everything else."

I try to hold his gaze as the De Luca seems to study me, but in the end, I just look away to keep stocking the case.

"Tomorrow," he says finally, "we'll be fine."

I don't say anything, instead I look back to the knife case and slide a few machetes into it.

"We will," Oliver continues. "I'm coming back, Carl. We all are."

Anger and grief bubbles in my veins, making my movements rough and aggressive as I fold the case over on itself and place – shove – it to one side, grinding my jaw as I turn and glare at him.

"You don't know that," I almost hiss, trying hard not to let my voice crack or rise. "Oliver, you don't... For all we know we could all die tomorrow. For all we know you could..." But I stop myself before I finish, tears threatening to spill as a painful lump forms in my throat at such a terrible scenario.

Oliver faces me, sitting on his knees and leaning forward to rest on his hands. "We don't know anything, Carl," he says softly. "Yes. For all we know we could all die tomorrow. I know that. We've seen that happen... But I have to do this. I owe my life to Carol... I owe Judith's and all of your lives to her, too. If I don't do this I'll never be able to forgive myself for letting her go."

"You didn't let her go," I snap bitterly, gripping a can of raveoli in my hand. "She killed Karen and David... She chose to leave!"

Oliver holds my gaze for a long time, patiently waiting for me to calm down without saying anything. But his patience is infuriating. I want him to answer back to me – give his opinion - argue his case – fucking lash out at me even. Just anything!

"Speak!" I hiss at him furiously.

But he remains silent...

I try not to, I really try... but I crack, suddenly flinging the ravioli can into the pile of supplies that were neatly piled in the corner of the room behind him, causing him to wince and flinch as they crash and clatter and tumble across the floor at his feet. But I ignore the noise.

"Oliver! _Speak!_" I shout aggressively, staring wide eyed at him and infuriated by his persistent silence, and then, I can't stop the roar that escapes me with my next order. ". . . SPEAK!"

For a moment, I remember the argument that I heard from my parents that morning. I remember Mom yelling at Dad, "Speak, Rick! Speak...! SPEAK!" she growled. I was sat at the table trying to ignore them as I ate my cereal. Dad just waited for her to calm down, just like Oliver is doing now with me. But Mom didn't calm down, "Sometimes I wonder if you even care about us at all?!" she told him, and I remember snapping my head up to them, tears threatening to spill as Dad stared in shock between Mom and I.

He left for work after that, defeated and hurt and betrayed...

That was the day he got shot.

My heart races as I watch Oliver's eyes shift between mine with an intensity that almost scares me, communicating without words as he tries to console me before I get any more aggravated.

But we aren't my parents. Unlike my mother to my father, I don't doubt the care in which I know Oliver feels for me, and in truth, I know that Mom didn't either.

"I'm sorry," I croak when Oliver's ability to calm me without even opening his mouth works yet again, softening my face and holding back my tears, and unlike my father all those years ago, Oliver finds his voice again.

"There's a difference between _choosing _to and feeling like you _have no choice but_ to."

"Oliver, I can't lose you again," I mutter almost inaudibly, unable to stop my brow from arching as I plead with him, fighting against the urge to simply bawl my eyes out on the floor and refuse to stop until Oliver agrees not to leave. But I hold myself together, remembering that I'm not a child anymore.

Oliver smiles, a sad smile that's barely holding back it's own sorrow. "You won't, Carl... I'm not gonna let that happen," he tells me. "I'm not gonna leave you... I promise."

"You shouldn't make promises you don't know you can keep," I grumble, frowning at the floor and still trying not to sound like a ten-year-old.

Oliver does smile now, the appreciation pushing through the sadness and worry.

"I know."

That's all he says, and I'm left unsure of how to feel about the confidence in his voice as he places his hand on mine, stroking his thumb across the back of my wrist in that captivating way of his.

A shaky, worried smile breaks over my lips and a tear runs down my cheek that I rush to wipe away, sniffling a mixture of a chuckle and a sob as I let myself become comforted by him. Foolish nativity, I know. But I crave the surety that Oliver seems to have, feeling as though it could maybe all be true given his reputation.

But as soon as that reassurance forms, it mulls over again as my worry creeps back into my mind, knowing that Oliver has only just managed to live this long mostly out of coincidence, and the terrible truth is... not everything can always go in his favour.

One day his luck will run out.

I begin to shake as the grief eats away at me, and instinctively my hand lifts to Oliver's neck, pulling him closer as it all suddenly consumes me. Oliver wraps his arms around me too, burying his face into my neck and mumbling an "It'll all be okay soon," as he holds me tightly.

I let out a breathy sob, scrunching my eyes shut as silent tears drip from my eyes and soak into his flannel collar. "I don't wanna lose you again," I barely keep from crying, pawing his spine and kissing the crook of his neck. A desperate, intense, humming pressure building in my mind like a swarm of wasps.

"You won't," he assures, holding me tighter and lacing his fingers through my hair, causing my hat to tumble off to the side.

"I promise, Carl."

"Please?" I say, that humming pressure building and building and building in my mind, and I gasp and hiccup into his nape, hearing our knees shuffling as we struggle to hold each other upright.

"Carl, please," he insists, pulling away to look at me. "Stop."

"No, not that," I whisper, because I am not asking him not to leave anymore. I know that he has to go. "Please, Oliver, jus'..." My eyes move to every centimetre of him, trying to find words for what it is I need so much from him. "Just..."

"Just what?" Oliver pleads quietly, stroking his thumb over my cheek as he searches my intense expression. "Please, Carl... what can I do?"

My eyes shift between his, losing myself in his expanding pupils, my breathing becoming irregular and gulping back the rock in my throat. "Just... be here with me... Now, Oliver."

It takes Oliver a moment to realise what I mean, and when he does his expression is suddenly full of every ounce of love that I crave from him. Maybe it's the looming thought and fact that he could die tomorrow, or the cruel separation that we both have had to endure already, or maybe it's just the crazy, terrified, muddled, teenage hormones raging through our bodies right now, but it proves to be all that Oliver needs to figure out what it is that I need so desperately from him, because he nods, his chin shaking as he fights his emotions.

"I'm here," he says gently.

My heart throbs for him, and a breathy "I know," only just manages to come out of my lips before I crash them into his, wrapping my arms around his neck and letting myself become dependant on his kiss.

Oliver's hands are around my waist, nestling into the fabric of my clothing as we lock lips, and when I begin to move myself backwards with him I almost stumble in my clumsiness. But Oliver catches me before I collapse, causing my breath to hitch as he gracefully moves with me to set me down.

He's on top of me, cradling my upper torso and head in his arms as he rests between my legs, kissing me with more of that intensifying passion that sends shivers down my spine. That wild electricity begins to whir between us again, and every moment of him fills up my soul that little bit more to comfort and reassure me... and I try not to think that what we are sharing together is a goodbye.

My palms find his cheeks, and I break our kiss to hold his face in front of me, arching my brow as tears prickle at the back of me eyes, pleading with him without words.

Oliver nods as he leans forward and presses his forehead to mine, at the same time letting himself rest on me fully, so that all of him is against all of me.

"I'm here," he repeats, arching his neck to kiss me and whispering into my lips. "I'm here, Carl."

I sob as we kiss, my breath hitching as hiccup after hiccup escapes my throat and my heart soars with the overwhelming love that erupts from every pore on my skin, and for a long moment we just stay there, and after a long time I finally settle, and we keep just staying there together, pausing time as we hold each other, exchanging our breath and absorbing each other's affection and love like a solar panel.

Until then, somehow... in that love... we are lost together.

It could've been the glance at my lips. Or the slight shift of my fingers over the back of his nape. Or the flickered arch of his brow. Or maybe the telepathic messaging that has formed between us somehow... But our lips and bodies connect like magnets, and we kiss as if we can't live without each other. Needing and using the other's contact as a life line. The same life line that has become very real to me, and I am needing it - needing him, as much now as I need the air that I breathe.

"Wait, Carl," Oliver breathes into my lips, shuddering as my palms roll down his spine, possessively pulling him closer.

I answer by kissing him harder, nodding slightly in the mixture of it all.

"We can't," he tells me, his voice pouring with emotion as if he is fighting with himself, "we shouldn't. They're only next door."

"I know," I interrupt, attaching my lips to his jaw, my brow knitted into an intense frown. "And we won't. We don't need to. Just let us be here together."

Reassured, Oliver nods and kisses me again on my jaw and then my neck, and I kiss every part of his skin that I can reach, and we revel in every moment of each other, feeding off of that Wild Whirring Feeling as we touch and comfort and hold each other, until we are almost satisfied and we manage to break apart for a moment.

I gaze at him, seeing his familiar features cast with dark shadows, barely visible apart from the dimming lamp in the corner of the room.

"My heart is beating so fast," he whispered, panting and letting his breath buffet over my skin.

I smile, everything so incredibly intense as I feel the continual, beautiful _thump thump thump _of his life hammering away inside of his chest.

"I can feel it," I whisper. "I can feel _You_."

He kisses me again, smiling when he pulls away.

For a moment, we whisper comforts into each other's ears, letting the few intimate and intense minutes roll through us as we tell each other things that I'm not sure are even possible to explain. Single words or nudges or noises or breaths that mean so much between us, like our own secret language that only we understand.

But then we begin craving more of the Wild Whirring from each other, and so we start it all over again. Kissing and touching and breathing and comforting, and it stops and starts and whirs and electrifies for a long time. So long that eventually Oliver and I both manage to finally, somehow, fill up on enough of each other, and everything begins to slowly settle, and we let ourselves simply forget about everything else for a moment, and it is just us... for that beautiful moment... until the beauty becomes so serene and flawless and soothing that we succumb to our exhaustion and fall asleep in each other's arms on the office floor together.

**Notes**

I am rather proud of this chapter. Especially the ending. I hope it was a nice mixture of intense, raw emotion between the two :)

Below is a special message for one reader in particular. Someone I know personally and has been **sneaky** and **nosy** and **intrusive **and **stubborn** enough to find out where my story is.

You know who you are.

Yes _you, _**Sher****lock. **I'm talking to _you._

Well done in finding my story after 6 months of me typing away behind your back and keeping it secret from you and everyone else. I praise (and condemn) your brilliant, intuitive, peeping, sneaky, Sherlock Holmes mind. Goddamn, I love you, and I am so grateful that you are being so gracious as to not share it with anyone else. One day I wont care who reads my stuff, but for now I am just too terrified of being judged by stupid people who don't understand crazy fangirls like us. You are truly a phenomenal best friend. I am so happy you are in my life. God damn, I fucking hate you for this.

XoXoX

You are quite literally the Sherlock to my Watson.

I love you!

**Preview: In the next chapter next Saturday, Oliver finally makes a decision of what to do with those stupid Marlboro cigarettes. About bloody time, huh?! Everybody is saying goodbye and the family is splitting up again for what feels like the thousandth time. A promise is made... but the question is if it can be kept.**

As always,

Happy reading xx :)


	42. Chapter 42 No More Empty Promises

**Bane2014 **No, long reviews are welcome! I practically fuel my motivation from them. Longer reviews = more passion in my writing! xxx I thank you for understanding, but, I fear by the end of this chapter in the notes you will hate me :S xx My plan is to keep writing this until I catch up with the mid season finale, and then I will go on hiatus until the finale and resume writing :) And yes, this story will be following the show, though, fairly soon it will temporarily become pretty cannon... but no spoilers xx And you're freaking welcome, I can't believe people actually stay up reading this, it's crazy. I don't think even I would! Haha

**Hehe **Oh dear, I laughed way too hard at your comment. Uh, your _Bea... _Hahaha will comes into the story in chapter 2. And I can't tell if you meant weird good or weird bad... regardless, thanks for the funny comment xx

**The Flash Fanatic **Thank you! I try *blushes* :)

**The Box **Aww! True-to-life, that's so freaking lovely to say! I love you! XXX They are total Goobers haha THANK YOU!

**NewWalker **:3 *conflicted flattery* ... Grrr! Hello, Sherlock! What are you doing here!? Oh wait, I know! You found my story behind my back you little shit, you little nosy so and so! Haha, thanks, sweet. You're awesome! Haha, I hardly think I will be writing for the show, that's a bit of a stretch. Haha, but thanks for being awesome! I love you too, see you on Tuesday. PICK ME UP FOR COLLEGE! MESSAGE ME!

**TheDarkerSide123 **No, no don't be sorry. That's a total compliment! Thank you! I hope to hear from you again soon. Your support is gold to me, no, it's Carl's hat to me. No! It's Oliver's beanie hat to me!

**Oliver's POV**

I wake up with him in front of me. I'm not exactly sure how long I've been awake for, just, the first thing I became aware of was that he was here. With me. As I am with him. It almost feels as if I didn't fall asleep at all, though, the room is lighter, so, I must have.

We had fallen asleep kissing last night. For a moment I think of how funny that is, as I had never even considered that sharing something so serene and calm until we simply fell asleep together was something that was even possible before today. There is a blanket covering us as well I realise. I guess Rick or Michonne or maybe Tyreese came in and put it over us, since neither I or Carl were particularly willing to leave each other and go and get something ourselves last night.

Then, suddenly, there is blue.

So much of it that in my sleepy haze I almost wonder if I am outside, staring up at the sky, or maybe I'm falling from a plane, tumbling thousands of feet into the ocean.

But he blinks, and I snap out of my dizzy haze, staring in awe at the shining light blue flecks in his electrifying oracles.

My hand lifts to his chin, lightly running my thumb from it up his jaw to just below his earlobe.

"I love you."

I's said it slowly, and on a whisper without even thinking about it.

He's sleepy, and most likely in no real conscious state to register what I had said. It's nice seeing him so calm and unaware of his troubles. Though, a moment later I am proven wrong when he shuffles closer, and when he speaks his voice is so quiet that I would miss it if I weren't fully focussing on him.

"I love you, Oliver... so much."

I wrap my arms around him and place a soft kiss on his fringe, and the first thing he does to respond is kiss the centre of my neck. I close my eyes, exhaling as I absorb his intimate contact, wishing it could never end.

He's doing well to hide his dread. But I can sense it, that dismal omen surrounding him in no way I can explain any clearer. Though, I know it will only be more cruel to the both of us if I make a fuss over our worry, so I go at it more subtly, doing my best to ease the tension with a gentle nudge with my chin against the top of his head.

"Wonder if there'll be any stocked up food places in Atlanta we can raid," I say quietly.

I can feel Carl try to smile, but he just lets out a breath and shrugs, gently pulling away to glance at me and shifting his eyes over my expression, and then a hitched, "Corn," is literally all he manages to say to me.

I laugh, taking his hand and squeezing it in both of mine. "Tell you what? I'll bring you back some corn," I say, twiddling my fingers between his. "No, I'll bring you back so much corn that you can drown in it."

Carl does smile then, and then he leans over to me and rests his forehead against my collarbone, furrowing his brow as the dread creeps up on him again.

I sigh, lifting my hand and kissing his knuckle, letting my lips linger over the scars he has there. The mutilated skin that is now thick and smooth and bumpy, having healed now since that terrible night before Terminus.

"Drowning in corn does sound like a _sweet _way to go."

My breath hitches, caught off guard by his joke. I let out a chuckle and Carl lifts his head and smiles at me, kindly and selflessly forcing himself not to spoil the last few hours we will have together before I leave.

"Didn't know you were so _punny_."

Carl laughs drowsily, shaking his head, "God, that's terrible."

I keep smiling at him, but the smile slowly fades as the lingering terrible mood returns to us once again. He kisses my forehead to reassure me, and when he pulls away I am still holding his hand.

For a long time we stay there, making the most of the quiet. Maybe an hour passes, or maybe only minutes, but eventually Carl falls asleep again. It is still early though, really early, much earlier than we usually wake up, and the air is still and calm while the sun hasn't even risen over the horizon yet by the light, only, maybe slightly touched it so far. So the light isn't very bright, with dark purple and a little bit of orange trickling through the cracks in the shutters overhead.

With all this time passing, I remember something.

"Carl," I whisper.

He jolts ever-so-slightly.

"I'm gonna go find Daryl, I'll be back in a bit."

"D'you want me to come with you?"

"No, I'm okay." I kiss his forehead as I let go of his hand. "I'll be back soon."

He nods, almost falling asleep again, but before he does I gently lift his head and shimmy out from under him. I pull off my flannel shirt, folding it and placing it under his ear to rest his head on to replace what my arm was doing previously, then I pull up the blanket to cover him better. I am about to stand up, but Carl's hand finds mine, holding it and placing a kiss on my knuckle.

"You'll come back," he mumbles, not even fully conscious.

For a moment I wonder if he meant after I am done talking with Daryl or after Grady. But my answer applies for both.

". . . I promise."

A flicker of a smile emerges on his perfect lips, and he moves his head a little to nod.

I smile as he kisses my hand again and then lets go of me, and I pull myself to stand up and walk out of the office.

Everyone is asleep, so I tip toe across the edge of the chapel, scanning over everyone for Daryl. But he went on watch right after we were done planning the trip last night which wasn't more that five or so hours ago, so I'm betting he's still out there.

So I slip out of the front doors without so much as a shuffle or glance in my direction.

My eyes find those angel wings instantly, spotting him sat at the bottom of the steps with his crossbow laid across his knees. He looks over his shoulder and his eyes narrow slightly at seeing it's me instead of Rick or Michonne or Tyreese like he was most likely expecting.

"Hey," I sort of wave, a little intimidated to be honest.

He makes a quiet grunt of a "Mornin'," and then nods, turning back to keep watch.

I consider just going back inside, feeling like a fool for what I am trying to do here. _**No! Don't you dare. Do it, Oliver. That stupid packet of cigarettes is driving you insane. **_

I take a deep breath. "Uhm, I found these a few days ago. Thought you'd want them."

Daryl glances at me over his shoulder again, watching me as I pull out the unfortunate and devastatingly squashed packet of _Marlboros _from my pocket.

"Here," I hand them to him, reaching down the steps.

"Where'd you get 'em?" he asks as he takes them, his voice rough and coarse and tired. Like usual.

"Outside of Terminus. That old, blue car outside of that shack. Sorry, they're pretty crushed."

He shrugs, "Can't complain."

I watch as he takes out his lighter and lights a cigarette. I almost miss it, but at the last moment, so late that it almost becomes awkward, I realise that he had just gestured for me to sit with him. So I join him on the bottom step, leaning forward to rest my forearms on my knees.

"You want one?"

I don't mean to show the utter shock on my face at his offer, my head whipping around to stare at him so fast that my hair flicks over my eyes slightly, also reminding me that I had left my beanie in the office with Carl.

He gestures the packet to me again.

"No. Uh, no, I'm okay."

What I want to call a smirk flickers over the Dixon's face, but of course, he straightens it again before I am sure. "You haven't had any yet," he predicts.

I shake my head no.

"Then why'd you take 'em?"

"Well, um, I was gonna try one. But, I dunno, I just didn't want to anymore. And I kinda didn't have a lighter."

Daryl breathes a short, single chuckle. "I wont tell," he states.

"Really?"

"Ain't my place to. They're yours after all."

Again though, I decline. "No, I'm fine."

He takes a drag from his cigarette, pocketing his new packet and rusty lighter. "I see why Carol likes you so much."

I dip my head, kind of flattered really, but it's tough to be flattered when the reason you are is because of someone you are so worried about, if that makes sense. "Yeah. We went through a lot together. She's... she's sort of like..."

"Family," Daryl finishes.

I nod, scratching at my nose.

Daryl makes a short, quiet grunt of agreement, "Yeah, me too."

We fall into quiet after that. Listening to the noises of nature as the minutes pass through The Church, trying not to think of the two women that we are both so unbearably terrified for.

"Found 'nother packet back at Atlan'a. Right before we found Noah."

"How'd you meet him?"

Daryl takes another drag. "Moron robbed us."

_Brave move._ _**I hope he didn't try to take their weapons... **__Takes either a very brave person to steal Daryl Dixon's crossbow... or... you know, just a really, really, really stupid person. __**If I had to choose... I'd call the latter.**_

"You caught him?" I ask.

"Yeah," Daryl tells me, nodding, "trapped 'im under a bookshelf. Almost letta walker get 'im."

I purse my lips, giving a slight nod and glancing from him to the floor as he takes another drag. "My dad used to smoke _Marlboro _cigarettes. He quit though, after a while. But he always had a stash somewhere for when he got home from his business trips. Like, random places around the house or outside. Just as comfort I guess." I'm not really sure why I am telling him this. I just, started talking.

But to my surprise though, Daryl starts talking too. "My mom smoked 'em. 'S what she used to set our house on fire. Killed herself."

I clamp my teeth uncomfortably. "Sorry."

"Ain't nothin'. 'S jus' what happened."

"Yes, Sir."

"Y'always callin' me that."

I almost apologise, but I realise that he's merely pointing it out, neither asking me to stop or saying that he prefers it, but by the modest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth I think I can guess.

"Patrick always did too."

I nod, that familiar pang hurting and aching in my chest at my brother's mention. "Yeah, we kind of always have done."

Daryl dips his head for a moment. For some reason I get a strange image of him calling someone like Rick "Sir" or Michonne "Ma'am" but it weirds me out, so I shake my head slightly to clear the strange thought.

"I know what it's like," Daryl says finally. "I lost a brother too."

"Merle."

For a moment I recollect the various things that Carl and Carol had told me about Daryl's older bother on the few different occasions when he just so happened to come up in a few conversations. The Legends of Merle Dixon, Patrick and I used to call them to muse ourselves. How Rick was forced to hand cuff him to a rooftop in Atlanta, and how he survived, cut his own hand off and later attached a giant, terrifying, metal blade to it, and how he sacrificed his own life to save everyone after The First Prison Attack. Admittedly, and I would never say this out loud, but Merle is somewhat of an Apocalyptic Super Hero to me after everything I have heard about him. _**I'd have definitely bought that comic book.**_

"Yeah," Daryl nods. "Guess you've heard a lot 'bout him." That is true. "Probably not all good stuff," he adds. I stay quiet, as that also is true. I'd heard about what else Merle did; working for The Governor, kidnapping Glenn and Maggie, almost sacrificing Michonne.

"I ain't sayin' he was all good," Daryl says quietly, his voice so low and coarse that it almost seems to blend with the rustling of the trees. As if he is so in tune with his surroundings that he's become a part of it. "Damn, he was an asshole. Left me with my dad when we were kids - wan'eda get away from him 'cause he beat 'im... beat me too... but I hadda stay... And then, when he came back, I went right back to 'im. Followed him like a sheep. But, he was my brother, y'know?"

"Yeah," I say truthfully, understanding to a much lesser scale, as the things I would do with Patrick that I didn't want to do weren't nearly as extreme as Daryl's and Merle's case, but I understand all the same how it is almost like instinct to follow an older brother.

Daryl rubs at his overgrown moustache, sighing slightly.

"After you lost him," I start. "The first time over the winter... were you glad to have him back? Where you happy, when you found each other?"

"Well, I didn't punch 'im round the face."

_No, but I did... _I almost laugh, but the seriousness of the subject makes laughter impossible.

"I was happy, relieved, but, uh... it weren't no fluffy, hugs 'n' kisses, brotherly reunion thing... Truth is it was tough. Brutal. We were in Woodbury. I'd been taken hostage... Governor put us in a ring and wan'ed us to fight to death with a bunch o' walkers on chains. In the end Rick 'n' the others came in 'n' rescued us, but, then, when we got out, Merle convinced me to leave 'em. And I did... Left everyone for 'im. Knew it was wrong... but."

"But he was your brother."

Daryl gives me a small nod and an almost inaudible grunt of agreement, then watches me for a moment after my words, scrutinising me in that subtly curious, empathetic Dixon way that is kind of absolutely terrifying now that I am witnessing it, as it is such a difference from his usual surely demeanour.

I look back at the tree line ahead, squinting as I watch a robin bird twitter around on the floor, picking at twigs and bark and blades of weeds, until it gathers as much as its tiny beak will allow and flies away.

"What 'bout you? Why'd you attack Patrick when you firs' saw 'im?"

I shrug at first, honestly finding it difficult to remember a motive to any of my actions back then. "I don't know. I was in a weird place. I guess five months does that."

Daryl grunts as he shifts his weight in his seat. "Yeah, try eight."

I bite my tongue, realising that Daryl was apart from his brother for a lot longer than I was. "Right. Yeah, sorry. Guess I can't really complain."

"Yeah. You can," he counteracts. "I had these guys. You...? You were on your own the whole time... Musta been tough."

I look away, sighing as I rest my chin across my arms, swaying my knees slightly. "I just try not to think about it... I'm here now. I got to see my brother again, even if it was only for a little while... That's enough for me."

"Hghm, well, you've earned it... findn' a family... that's for sure."

I nod, scratching at my chin. For a long time I build my question in my head, letting it form as a sure sentence in my chest until if finds enough courage to show itself. "Carol...? Did she tell you why?" That didn't come out as confident as I thought it would.

"Why what?"

"W-why she left."

"Yeah, she did," he nods, and I know he knows I want him to tell me, but he doesn't continue.

"Is she okay...? I mean, not getting hit or falling from the bridge... but is _she _okay?"

He scratches the scarring cut on his eyebrow. "You're gonna ask her yourself..." he doesn't suggest, but tells me, pausing for a long moment to hold my eye contact. "But, she's sorry. And, she's scared – may not seem it, an' she's a tough woman, but she's hurtin'... Cares about you like a son, which is hard for her 'specially after Sophia and the girls."

"Did she tell you... about Mika and Lizzie?"

He dips his head, chewing his thumb. "Didn' need to... They ain't here."

I nod again, fighting the tears suddenly prickling at the back of my eyeballs. "You knew Sophia didn't you?"

He glances at me and nods. "Good kid... Was hard, findin' her in Hershel's barn."

"Carl told me."

He sort of hums his grunt in understanding. "He's a good kid - tough kid. Y'both are, after everythin' you've been through."

I nod, staring down at the trail of ants scurrying between my feet under the porch.

Daryl doesn't say anything after that, just sighs, readjusting his crossbow on his knees and then looks back to the tree line.

I stand up, scratching the back of my head and stretching. The sunrise has turned the sky blue again, a few clouds dotted around as the bright star only just begins to shine through the tree line ahead, and over in the right hand corner of the natural canvas by the tree line is Venus, still there, haunting me.

"Thanks for the cigs," Daryl pipes up. "We'll start getting' ready soon to go."

"Yes, Sir. And, uhm, yeah, you're welcome."

With one last nod over his shoulder, I turn and go into The Church.

Rick is awake, feeding Judith.

"Morning."

"Mornin', Oliver. Where's Carl?"

I point to the office.

Rick nods, "You two alright? I heard, uh, you know..."

For a terrible moment I freeze, knowing that there was no way he means anything sorbid, as Carl and I didn't do anything that would induce... well, you know, noise of that kind of manner, but somehow I am suddenly given a rush of adrenaline regardless.

". . . The arguing," he finishes. I'm not sure if that was a better conclusion to his sentence. "You two alright?" Rick asks again, snapping me from my stupor of relief and concern, which really is a lot more confusing than I had anticipated.

"Oh, y-yeah. Yeah, we're fine. We just, had to talk about it. But he's okay now... We're okay."

Rick nods, "Good... I think you both need each other now more than ever."

"Yeah." _That's the bitter-sweet problem-solution __of it all__. _"I'm gonna go wake him. Mr. Dixon says we're getting ready soon."

"Okay," he says as I walk to the office.

Carl is still asleep. Fast asleep. I almost can't bring myself to wake him, hating myself for having to. But, I decide that if I do I will do it nicely, as lately, I really haven't been so kind. What with waking him up by blowing in his ear, then trying to claw his chest apart yesterday, and so I think he deserves a nice awakening for once.

I can't help but smile as I close the door behind me, going to kneel down beside him. I place my hand on his chest, thumbing at the collar of his shirt.

"Carl..." I whisper, knowing he wouldn't stir.

So I lean down, gently brushing a few strands of his hair out of his closed, relaxed eyes.

"Wake up, Grimes," I whisper softly, leaning down further to the teenager who doesn't even bat a closed eyelid.

Then my lips touch his, a simple, careful, press and release.

He murmurs something against me, but, ultimately, doesn't rouse.

So I do it again, only this time it is his jaw that my lips come into contact with, and this time, he lets out a soft sigh, arching his neck to subconsciously give me more room on him. Though, even though I keep kissing him, my lips trailing across his mandible to the part where it meets his neck, slipping my hand around to his nape and running my fingers over it, he still doesn't wake up.

"Jeeze, I thought I was a heavy sleeper," I mumble into his neck, grinning.

So...

I graze my teeth over the centre of his throat, and then dart my tongue against it.

It's a sharp intake of breath, and then Carl is awake, and his arms are suddenly pulling me to meet his lips and crashing them together. Then, instinctively, he has rolled over, swinging his leg over my waist to straddle me, doing everything other than mauling my lips with his mouth.

My eyebrows rise and I flinch horrifically, letting out a quiet hum of surprise, completely taken off guard by his sudden alertness after being fast asleep mere moments ago, and I almost startle by his technique... because he's doing this... _thing... _with his tongue.

"Christ, Carl!" I mumble into his lips.

But then I get to thinking about how good he feels, and my eyes almost roll to the back of my head as I kiss him back, though, mere moments after I do he parts our lips, grinning down at me as he takes in my flustered, scruffy state under him, staring in mild shock up at him with my hands on either side of my head for not having enough time or functioning thought process to think what to do with them yet.

"Mornin', Oliver."

". . . Hi."

I'm panting frantically, but I pull my thoughts together and finally move my arms to rest them on my chest, letting him slip his hands into them.

"Oh, uhm... you're..." Carl says after a moment, his cheeks suddenly turning crimson.

I swallow, trying to catch my breath. "Mhm?"

But he hesitates, chewing the inside of his lip and unable to subdue the ridiculous smile on his face. "You're a little... uh, excited."

The heat erupts over my cheeks as I notice the familiar hardness between my legs, pressing against him, and I scoff defensively. "Well, what do you expect? Kissing me like that."

His grin broadens, though, he doesn't get off of me, neither do I ask him to.

I chuckle nervously, then straighten my face, "Sexy... Carl... you're so damn sexy."

He laughs into my chest, understanding the inside joke, and all I can do is giggle as I watch him crack up.

"Well, you should calm down before we go out there," he suggests. "Pretty sure they'll notice – not exactly gonna be the easiest thing to hide."

"Not exactly like I can tell it to go away either," I grin, propping myself up a little on my elbows. "And thanks for the compliment I think."

Carl scoffs, blushing more as he gently thumbs my chest with his fist, "Shut up, Air Head."

I hum my giggle, gazing up at him.

"Oliver...?" he says, his expression serious now.

I nod, furrowing my brow slightly.

"Before, back at the suburb. You said... um," he fumbles, thumbing nervously at the collar of my shirt before realising what he is doing and locking his eyes back on to mine. "You said we weren't ready... to be together like that... I was just, wondering... what... uh, what about now?"

I sort of just stare at him, my mouth opening and closing as I try to pull my thoughts together to form a sentence.

Carl's eyes widen slightly, "Oh, no. No, I don't mean _now _now... God, Oliver. No, uhm, I mean, well, after everything, you know...? If we were alone, and if it ever felt right... If we both wanted to... would you want us to wait any more?"

"I'd want you to be ready," I say truthfully, sure that he can feel my heartbeat hammering away in my chest, though, calming slightly now after his elaboration. "I'd want it to be something that you wanted. And, your dad, he kinda told me that he didn't want us doing that stuff until we were older."

"Okay," he nods slowly, "but you didn't answer my question..."

I dart my eyes between his, confused.

"So, what about you?" he continues.

This genuinely stumps me. Of course I want Carl. There would quite literally be nothing I'd love more. But that isn't what has ever been important to me. I'd never thought of it on _my_ terms before. It's always been about what he wanted, what he was comfortable with.

"Oliver," his voice nestles me back into focus, "what do _you _want?"

There is a short pause as I stare at him. Him, the very person that is the answer to his own question, and by the soft smile on his lips I know he knows this too.

"You're always thinking about what's best for me. And, what my dad would approve of, and if you're doing the right thing..." He leans down over me, supporting himself with a hand on either side above my shoulders, his long, dark hair hanging down from his ears and forehead. "It's like you don't even realise how perfect you are. It's like you don't even realise how good you are and how much my dad trusts you and how the best for me is everything you do for me. For all of us... You don't even realise, Oliver... You don't even r.."

Before even being able to think about my actions, I am kissing him. With so much appreciation and need to love him that I wonder if I ever have felt like this before. This intense. This infatuated. This in love. Of course, I always want to show him how much I love him. But this... This is an intense _need_ _to_, not just _show him how muc__h_.

My hands take either side of his face, gently pulling him closer, and for several minutes that feel like seconds to me, we twirl our lips and tongues together, and, I'm not sure if he is doing it on purpose, but he's... pressing, sitting deeper against me, and tugging at my nape with his warm, callused hands, breathing me in when I gasp into his mouth and getting so heated that I'm not sure I can even bring myself to let go of him ever again.

But finally, Carl and I pull away from each other.

"You're trembling," Carl whispers, his lips swollen and scarlet and perfect, and his eyes are black, stealing my focus and locking it away deep in the dark saucers or his oracles. Then he smiles, gently coaxing me back to reality by gently running the outside of his index finger over my flustered cheek.

"If we we're ready," I manage, softly smiling back at him, "and alone... _really _alone. Then we'd just go with whatever happens... We'd just be us."

Carl leans forward, grazing his lips against mine, "Okay."

Then we're kissing again, and, like it had been since we began, our heated activities are doing nothing to help me _calm down, _at all.

He pulls away, realising this too and biting his lip. "Um, sorry."

I sneer, playfully pushing his cheek with my palm so that he doesn't look at me, "No you're not."

He grins, pulling his cheek from my hand and looking back at me. "You're right. I'm _really_ not."

I let out a content sigh, leaning forward to press my forehead to his and gently cupping his nape. But then, the atmosphere softens, and the amusement and excitement we had just shared together slowly trickles away like water running through a sponge.

Carl relaxes, resting limp on top of me, and his breath suddenly hitches.

"What's wrong?" That was a stupid question. So stupid. So incredibly stupid and cruel.

I can feel the sweep of dread swamp him, and when Carl speaks, his voice is coarse and cracked and heart breaking.

"You're leaving me."

"No," I shake my head and my hand finds purchase on his nape, gently and desperately all at the same time, squeezing him there. "No, I'm not." My breath catches through my teeth. "Promise, Carl. God dammit, I promise."

He doesn't say anything, he just keeps hold of me, tightening his grip and frowning into my neck.

I hold him for a long time. I've never seen him like this. I've never seen him so catatonically terrified. I've seen him cope with his fear in many ways. After The Attack of The Prison, he tried shutting me and his father out, only to break down almost two days later in front of the both of us. I've seen him cry. I've seen him scream at me. I've seen him so angry that I was almost afraid of what he'd do. But this, this terror for me and his father and his family... it's making him more terrified than I have ever seen him before... and he so afraid that he can't do anything.

**CRACK!**

I startle, suddenly jolting out of my thoughts and hearing Carl's gasp as he startles from it, too. Our eyes wheel around, meeting each other's spooked gazes as another loud bang shakes through The Church.

"What the hell?" I mutter, unsure if I should be afraid or not. _**I can't hear any worried voices. **_I glance at Carl, seeing the confusion and alarm on his expression as he has no idea what it is either.

More banging, so Carl and I quickly put on our hats and shirts, and I head to the door and poke my head out.

It's Sasha.

She is hacking away at a church bench, destroying the wooden surface with a permanent scowl on her devastated expression. I see Daryl and Tyreese talking over by the organ at the end of the chapel and I step out of the office to get to them.

"What's going on?" I croak, clearing my throat as I step out of the room. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Tyreese says to me. "We're jus' getting' ready for leavin'. Puttin' up some extra protection around The Church."

I nod, walking over to the organ where Daryl is wrenching a metal pile from it.

"Now that you're up ya'll can start on the shutters with Noah," Daryl says, then glances at presumably Carl as the teenager emerges from the office, and I only just realise that he had taken a moment to hold back and pull himself together again before he showed himself.

"Sure," Carl mumbles, his voice still rough and his expression solemn, glancing at the female Willims' as she continues to hack away at the bench.

So we head outside, greeting Rick and Michonne as they go to work on the shutters nearest the front of the building, and they tell us that Noah is around the back and briefly go over what it is we are required to do.

"We don't have another hammer other than that big, black guy's," Noah tells us without looking at us while he hammers away at nailing a wooden board over the window with the borrowed tool.

"Tyreese," I inform him of its owner's name, not particularly enjoying the identifier Noah used before.

Noah turns to us, wiping a bead of sweat and extending his hand to me, "Noah," he introduces himself.

I nod and shake his hand, again, having to slightly stretch my social capabilities. "I'm Oliver," I say.

Noah tilts his head and furrows his brow in confusion, "Then, who's Tyreese?" he asks, thinking that my earlier words were my first introduction.

"Oh, uh, he's the, uh, 'big, black guy'," I explain awkwardly.

"Oh," Noah smirks and nods, turning to Carl and extending his hand to him to shake.

"I'm Carl."

"I'll go get something we can use," I tell them, breaking away and heading back into the building to search.

Once I find a few hacked off bench legs, I go back out to Carl and Noah, overhearing Rick and Michonne discussing something I make an effort not to listen to as I pass them.

"Here," I hand Carl a leg, grabbing a wooden board from the floor and holding it up. On each end of it, Noah and Carl bash a long nail into the wood until it is held up securely. Repeating the process on the other windows and switching roles to suit the circumstance.

"Are you gonna take the cross, too?" we overhear Father Gabriel ask Daryl as the redneck lodges another long metal pipe of the dismantled organ into the earth at The Church entrance with all the rest. They will be used as spikes to impale any walkers that get too close.

"If we need it?" is all Daryl answers.

**Carl's POV**

We finish boarding every window of The Church before long. In the end we didn't have to use the cross, and it remains on the roof where Gabriel believes that it belongs.

I try not to show my dread as we all head back into the building, forcing my face to relax, which in itself is a difficult task, as forcing relaxation is almost impossible. But I manage for the majority of it.

Dad, Daryl, and Noah go about stocking up the truck that Daryl and Noah used last night to escape Atlanta and get back here with. Letting Tyreese, Sasha and Oliver take the opportunity to simply be in our company for as long as possible.

Oliver and I listening to the others as they talk amongst themselves a little, occasionally regarding me or Oliver and then letting the chapel fall quiet again. But Oliver and I don't say much at all, maybe one word sentences or nods, instead, keeping a tight hold on each other's hand, standing so close that I'm sure any closer I would fit inside of him, just, slot right into his form without even realising it.

Until finally Dad comes back and whistles for Oliver, Tyreese and Sasha to get ready.

My heart drops.

I exchange nods and forced smiles with Sasha, Tyreese, Daryl as they head out to the truck, Noah must be out there waiting already.

Both Oliver and I almost refusing to leave each other's side for as long as possible as we watch Dad kiss Judith goodbye, before handing the baby to Oliver and letting the teenager say his own silent and telepathic fair wells to who is no less than a little sister to him now as well.

I pull myself from the wall I was leant on and embrace my father, and when we pull away he grips the side of my neck in the same gentle and familiar way that he always has.  
>"We'll be back soon," he tells me.<p>

"I know."

He leaves out the door to join the others and I turn to Oliver, watching him hand Judith to Michonne, his expression forcing its calmness as much as mine, and as soon as my sister is secure in Michonne's hold, Oliver has engulfed me in his warm arms before I even start moving to return the gesture.

I hold him, tighter than I probably ever have, and as I bury my face into the crook of his neck I let my expression crumple and contort in the dread and fear and grief that I have been holding back for so long, and I can feel his face doing the same into my neck. But we compose ourselves before we pull away from each other and I cup his temples in each hand and pull his face down to plant a kiss on his forehead, stroking my callused thumb over the scar on his healed temple.

Without needing to talk, we exchange silent I Love You's into each other's heads, preying that each other's safety remains to whatever it is that may be left in the universe.

"No more empty promises," Oliver whispers, his words buffeting on his warm breath over my neck with every syllable.

I close my eyes and nod before breaking apart from him, and with one last nod to each other, I watch Oliver leave The Church, my heart aching and my stomach churning as he and Dad close the doors behind them, holding the De Luca's gaze to the last moment.

Judith senses the dismal mood that this morning is leaving us all in and begins to wail for the family that has left her for what must be the hundredth time by now. But we know that there is nothing we can do for the troubled infant, so we leave her to settle in her basket while Michonne and I go to work on nailing the door closed.

**Notes**

They'll find each other again in only a few chapters :) Not far away x

Also, did you see what I did there **Bangerz101 **and **westerlo4**? I did a reference to the sarcastic thing from their first kiss like you wanted. Haha, not exactly what you asked for... but it made me laugh, so, hope you liked it xx

This chapter was so much fun to write! FINALLY GOT RID OF THOSE STUPID MARLBORO CIGS! Yaaay! Yeah, so I made this a special chapter because of the few chapters they'd have to spend apart :(

A few rather important conversations in this one. Daryl's talk with Oliver, because I thought it was important to the story that they both recognised how much they related to each other what with being separated from their brothers, and then for them to die shortly after finding them again. Also, Carl and Oliver finally spoke about taking things to the next level, which I thought was also important. But it won't be for a little while yet.

Hope you liked it :)

Ps.

Also, I apologise for any of you looking to read this story for smut, but when the boys do finally become sexual with each other, I'm not going to write it with dicks and tongues and dirty talk and bodily fluids thrown all over the place, like Fifty Shades of Grey style (not that that is a bad book, actually I've never read it, I'm just saying that from its ignorant stigma x) It will be more about the emotional experience between them, and the awkwardness and the excitement and the discovery, rather than getting off on it. I'm not comfortable writing that sort of stuff, sorry. I just don't feel morally justified to write minors doing that sort of thing together in such detail. But hopefully it will be just as satisfying, just in a different way. Sorry if that offends any of you, but I'm kind of hoping that the story is more important than the sex. :) Thank you!

Hope you all liked it :)

**Preview: The next chapter will be the next few scenes from the episode "Crossed". Noah and Oliver finally have a conversation in which Oliver doesn't want to sock him around the face in, and his impression on the youth begins to turn for the better. Back at The Church, Carl tries to help Gabriel overcome his fears, and Michonne expresses her worry for him and the rest of their group.**

**I love Momma Michonne. She and Carl are so adorable!**

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	43. Chapter 43 Carl's Not Your Brother Is He

**First and foremost, special CONGRATULATIONS to fictoinboy for your engagement! Here's to a long and happy husbandry!**

**The Flash Fanatic **Thank you. I'm so glad that that you thought so, I'm not really the most experienced when it comes to romance (in the real world XD) so it means a lot that you think I am in writing it, you thank you.

**Bane2014 **Haha, thank you, it made me laugh too. I know, and I'm so glad you are okay with my choice xx love ya!

**SirenPash **Aw! Ah! Eep! Thank you, and I really have no idea how I have pulled it off. Thank you! A balance, ah, that's so nice! Yeah, themes throughout this have become accidentally really important, what with how the show does it. Thank you, I'm glad you gave it a chance and liked it so much! I don't think that this will be completed until the show is, unless I lose interest and decide to put a bullet or blade between Oliver's eyes... ugh... that came out a lot more heartless than I meant it to, and I could almost feel Oliver glaring at me haha Much admiration to you too!

**The DarkerSide123 **You have returned! Haha, thank you! Haha, yeah, I had one of my internet buddies message me saying "Don't have Oliver talk to Daryl, it's too weird!" and then twenty minutes later they said, "I take back what I said." hahaha that made me laugh, and I'm glad it worked out so well! And I'm glad you're happy about my smut decision. It was rated M, but I changed it a few weeks ago when I had started making my "no smut" decision. Haha, squeal all you want, just, make sure you're not around other unsuspecting people. Trust me, and take it from someone who knows... it makes us look mad when we giggle for no apparent reason. Haha, my dad once called me a loon... haha It means so much to me that my support to your support means so much to you! Ugh, my head hurts, haha love ya!

**inazumahunter **Haha, I find it really funny how awkward he is with strangers too. A lot like me haha Yeah, they are split up again, I'm so cruel :( I've also realised that out of the forty odd chapters in this, only eight of them have the boys actually kissed or been particularly romantic in. But not for long... soon I will let them catch up on ALL of the overdue kissing, so stick with them for a little longer! Haha

**Oliver's POV**

Dread.

I try not to let it seep into my mind and creep over my skin.

But it does.

So I stop trying.

Simply adjusting to it as it consumes every part of me.

I hear them hammering away at boarding The Church, forcing myself not to turn back to break the doors open and leap into Carl's arms again. So I follow Tyreese, Sasha, Daryl and Rick out of the lot and down the street towards the truck.

Rick and Daryl take the front while Tyreese, Sasha I take the back. I go to the very end of the boot nearest the driver's end and then take a seat on the floor against the wall opposite Noah, followed by Tyreese and Sasha, who take a seat nearest the exit on the other end with tense expressions that we all share.

The truck engine roars into action, and I take deep breaths to subdue the dread as we pull out of the by pass and onto the road to Atlanta.

Along the journey, I over hear Tyreese and Sasha talking together, but I train my gaze to the sky light above Noah's head, watching the trees and occasional tops of buildings whiz past as I make an effort not to eves drop on the sensitive subjects that I know must still be tearing away at them; Bob and Karen.

Almost an hour passes before anyone addresses me. But to my surprise, it's not Tyreese, or even Sasha, but Noah who initiates the conversation.

"You been with these guys from the start?" he asks quietly, gesturing his hands to me to get my attention.

I'm a little taken back by how social I realise Noah is. But I become aware that this is probably considered normal behaviour and that it is really me that is abnormally unsocial, so I make an effort and prop myself up a little into a more respectable sitting position and answer him.

"Uh, no," I manage, but when Noah keeps holding my eye contact I realise that he is waiting for me to continue, so, pushing myself that little bit extra more, I elaborate. "I've been with them for just over three months now. Michonne and Daryl brought me back on a run – reunited me with my brother." For a moment, recollecting all of this brings a sweep of nostalgia over me and I almost shake my head to clear it.

Noah's brow rises, "Wow," he says, impressed that the chances of me finding my family again in this day and age. "I've been lookin' for family, too," he tells me, then to my further surprise he gets up from his seat and comes to sit beside me, grunting a little from his wound as he sets himself down about a foot or so to my left.

Noah had explained that he injured his leg while escaping. He and Beth had to climb down an elevator shaft, but he fell... He said that if it weren't for Beth he would have never made it out.

He looks out in front of us, staring out of the window I have been fixated on the whole journey for a moment before talking again. "How long were you separated?" he asks.

I furrow my brow and glance at the youth, wondering if he means me and Patrick or me and Carl, wondering further if Daryl might have mentioned us or something and that is how he knows.

Noah catches my confusion, "You and your brother," he says, then motions up to Rick. "An' your dad."

"Oh," I blurt, shaking my head and unable to stop myself from smiling at the big misunderstanding that is going on here. "No. Rick's not my dad."

"But, your brother... I thought..." he struggles.

"My brother died three weeks ago," I tell him bluntly, feeling the pain of that truth still stinging in my heart, but dealing with it all the same, adjusting to it.

Noah's expression softens, "Oh, um, I'm sorry to hear that," he says, giving his condolences.

I purse my lips and nod, "We've all lost people," I say truthfully, my eyes flickering over to Sasha and Tyreese as they sit in grieved silence together.

Noah smiles sympathetically, "Yeah."

For a little while, we go back to staring out of the window. But I can almost sense the silent confusion still playing on Noah's mind, and as if on cue, he glances over at me.

"Carl's not your brother is he?"

A smirk spreads across my lips at that, and I dip my head and shake it in declination before looking up at the youth and grinning broader than I probably should given the current atmosphere in the truck right now, but its a rare occasion that I get to actually talk about such things.

"No," I say quietly, wondering how he didn't realise already, though I guess he hadn't seen us say goodbye or anything so he had no reason to. So with my next statement, I make sure that the proudness in my voice and expression is clear. "He's my boyfriend."

The momentary surprise on the youth's expression is priceless, and for a moment I am baffled by how he can be shocked by this information when we are living in a world where the dead have risen from their graves. But it seems that he comes to the same conclusion, because he gets over it and purses his lips into a smile.

Their is a moments quiet, albeit, it is pretty awkward.

"I remember my next door neighbours were gay," Noah says a moment later, deciding that he wants to continue the subject even though I had made no indication that it was necessary.

I resist the urge to cock an eyebrow at him, nodding instead for lack of any idea on how else to respond. "Okay," I say, confused by where he is going with this and by the look on his face he is just as uncertain.

"But they were girls," he says, "so I guess it's kinda different."

I do well not to laugh. For one, he seems to have just assumed that Carl and I are gay, when both of us have been attracted to the opposite sex at least once in our lives, one crush of Carl's being one of the very women we are going to rescue right now; Beth, and two, it's pretty funny watching him try to think of something to socialise with me about, figuring that the only thing he seems to think we can talk about is sexuality. But quite frankly, I'm not about to go all petty and pretentious on him, and to be truthful, I'm kind of relieved for this awkward distraction, as it takes my mind off of everything that has happened to all of us and everything that we are on our way to do.

"Yeah, _kinda_," I say, unable to resist the hint of sarcasm in my voice.

Noah rolls his eyes, "No, I mean for me. I mean, I'd always thought they were pretty hot," he jokes, and I realise what he means because I'm pretty sure that he doesn't feel the same way about mine and Carl's relationship, which I obviously am more than fine with. Carl is _my _boyfriend, and the idea of someone else having those kind of thought about him other than me would be pretty damn unacceptable in my opinion.

"I can imagine," I awkwardly joke along with him. Maybe in another life where I wasn't completely head over heels in love with Carl, I would possibly consider agreeing with Noah. But right now, I'm more than happy with the Grimes that I have been so fortunate to be gifted with. So I stifle my chuckling, raising my brow in amusement at the youth.

I have decided that I like Noah. Though his humour can be a little overbearing at times, he seems like a decent guy.

I train my gaze back to the widow opposite me, falling back into the quiet again, though this time it is surprisingly free of that awkwardness, with only the grumbling drone of the truck engine as we continue our journey for a few more minutes.

"You said you were with Beth," I pipe up after a while.

Noah nods, a look of guilt flickering in his expression as he keeps his sight trained on the window.

"How is she?"

Noah looks at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm not sure..." he tells me. "But I know she's alive."

"And Carol? They're gonna help her... they _can_ help her?"

Noah nods and I almost sigh with relief, but he shakes his head before I move, shattering through the brief relief I experienced and he doesn't wait to elaborate. "But they won't let her go... they'll make her work there 'til she pays off the debt that all the resources she's usina recover takes."

My expression tenses, "Debt? But, how long will-" I remember that we are going to rescue her, and so I change my context, "_would,_ that take?"

Noah leans down and pulls his pant leg up to expose a long, red, scar that stretches up the back of his calf, going up even further than he is showing me. "This was a couple hundred stitches and some antibiotics... I was there for almost a year an' still had more than that to go," he explains, pulling down his pant leg again and sitting up.

My breath hitches as bitter realisation hits me across the face. _**Carol got hit by a car... and she was injured before... that'd be a lot more 'debt' than just a cut on the leg like Noah's... **__Unless we succeed in rescue her today, she'd never get out... Same goes for Beth._

"That's how it works at Grady," Noah continues. "You work off what you take and then you can go. Trouble is, I'd never seen it happen like that... Everythin' costs somethin', so the debt jus'... keeps growin'... But the wards... some of 'em don't jus' make you pay with work around the hospital... girls mostly, you know?" his voice trails off and he averts his eyes uncomfortably.

I nod, my blood chilling as he tells me this. I know exactly what he means. _**Carol and Beth need to leave Grady... as soon as humanly possible.**_

"You don't get out. Not unless you escape..." Noah continues after his pause has given me enough time to become absolutely terrified, Tyreese and Sasha too by the looks, as I realise both have begin listening to Noah now too. He exchanges a glance with them. "That's why we need to rescue them."

"And we will," Tyreese gives his two cents.

I nod, swallowing the rock in my throat. "Yeah," I agree, forcing the shake from my voice as I bury my fear and dread, replacing it with determination that I am relying on to get me through this. "We will. And Carol and Beth... they'll be okay."

I recollect what I had told Carl previously, _"No more empty promises," _and I prey that the same thing applies for what I have just said. Protecting my family has become my greatest priority throughout everything we have been through. I have tried to do everything in my power to keep them safe. And I have made my mistakes, I know that. People have died when I, nor anyone else, has had any power to stop it, I know that, too. My parents. My brother. Hershel. Everyone from The Prison. Mika and Lizzie. Bob. Even the people I try not to think about near the beginning. So now that another two members of my family's life are threatened, I silently devote myself to making sure that I will do everything in my power to make what I am about to say stays true.

"We'll find them," I say, hardening my expression and keeping my voice as confident as I desperately want to feel. "We'll get them back and they'll be okay... They have to be."

_~ Several Hours Later ~_

"At sundown we fire a shot into the air," Rick goes over the carefully laid out plan to us all again as he crouches on the floor in the middle of the circle we have created around him.

We observed The Hospital for a while when we arrived to Atlanta a few hours ago, finding that their were a lot of guards dotted around the place; on the roofs and in the building mostly, with a few leaving or entering the vicinity. But like Noah said, they were on a schedule that he easily predicted. Once we were satisfied, we crept into a building a few blocks away from Grady that Noah said was clear. A warehouse of some kind I think. Again, to everyone's gratefulness and growing fondness of the youth, Noah was telling the truth and the place is empty of all living, and dead.

"Get two of 'em out on patrol," the Grimes tells us, displaying the plan on a drawing he had made on the floor, using a knife to scratch out the hallways and floors of Grady Memorial Hospital, and we all listen closely, nodding and occasionally giving our input to suggest something that might be of use or something we aren't clear on. "Then once it's dark enough that the roof top spotter won't see us, we go... We'll cut the locks on one of the stair ways - take it to the fifth floor... I open the door, Daryl takes the guard out."

"How?" Tyreese chimes in.

Rick looks up at him, and I too train my sights on the male Williams.

"Daryl slits his throat," Rick answers reassuringly, noticing the reluctance in Tyreese's expression and not realising that his hesitation is in fact a lot deeper than just simple worry. "This is all about us doin' this quiet – keepin' the upper hand... they're not expectin' us."

I keep watching Tyreese as Rick talks, and after a moment I notice to my left, Daryl picking up on the troubled man too and then doing the same as I am.

Not much gets past Daryl Dixon.

"From their we fan out," Rick goes on and I focus on him again. "Knives an' silenced weapons. We needa be _fast_." He pauses to draw a few crosses onto the map in the appropriate places. "Tyreese, Sasha. Take them," he instructs them, "Daryl, Oliver. You take whoever's in the kitchen," he tells us, and we give small confident nods in understanding. "I got Dawn," Rick finalises, frowning down on the cross that signifies the woman who is suppose to be running the place.

I had shifted my eyes back to Tyreese, examining his tense brow and grieved expression, and quite frankly, not liking it at all. As if he can feel my stare, he glances at me, his dark, brown eyes flickering between both of mine for a moment before fixing on Daryl beside me. I look without moving my head, seeing Daryl staring coldly at Tyreese.

Daryl is highly respected in our group, but to put it bluntly, he is extremely intimidating, even to Tyreese. Me? Well I'm not at all intimidating unless I've got a gun in my hand, but to Tyreese... I'm the kid that experienced the traumatic events that has mostly caused the reason why he is so unwilling to do this in the first place. So to have the both of us staring at him right now, putting even more pressure on the troubled man who clearly is having difficulty grasping what it is he needs to do in a short amount of time, is probably not the best way to go about convincing or reassuring him.

So I drop my gaze from the both of them, hoping that my subtle gesture is taken with gratitude from Tyreese as their isn't really much I can do about how Daryl handles him.

"If they're smart, the rest of 'em'll give up then," Rick says, snapping my focus to him again. He gestures to me when I look at him, raising his brow reassuringly. "Then it'll be six on three - seven on three once we get a weapon to Beth." We had come to the conclusion that Carol is most likely too weak and injured to help fight with us. I've just been trying not to think about how much.

"Thirteen on three. The wards'll help," Noah corrects him.

It's my turn to give an input. "Why would they help us? I thought you said that they were bad."

"Not all of 'em," Noah says, "Jus' a few. But once the other's know what they're fightin' for they'll set 'em straight."

I purse my lips, having trouble getting much confidence from his statement. But he's been right so far, so I nod in acceptance.

"That's best case," Tyreese says, his expression nothing short of grim. "What's the worst case...? All it takes is one o' those cops, going down the hall at the wrong time," he shakes his head in dread of his thoughts becoming true. "Then it's not quiet. All hands on deck... we talkin' 'bout a lot o' bullets flyin' around."

"If that's what it takes," Sasha voices my thoughts, but the blank look on her expression is a little worrying.

"It's not," Tyreese protests.

I shift my weight on my hips, narrowing my eyes in question at the man.

"If we get a couple that're cops. Alive. Out here," Tyreese says hoarsely. "We do an even trade... Theirs for ours... everybody goes home."

_**Shit, that's actually not a bad plan.**_

By the look on most everyone's faces I'd say they are thinking the same thing.

"Yeah I get it. An' it might work," Rick agrees, standing up to square up to Tyreese, his voice dropping considerably at his next few words. "But this will work."

Tyreese's eyes shift between Rick's, tilting his head as if he is trying not to shake it. I myself am conflicted. I'm more accustomed to the original plan, and also, realising that due to the fact that Rick is still sure of his plan it manages to give me unshaken trust in his judgement. I'm just not sure if my unlimited belief in Rick is wise, even though he has never done me or anyone I care about wrong in my book so far. But then on the other hand, I can see sense in Tyreese's proposal, and after spending all that time with him on the road, sharing the grief and devastation that the girls left us in, I have grown to trust him just as much as I do Rick. If the fair trade proves to be successful, it would mean automatic elimination of any chance in blood shed on either side.

"Nah, that'll work, too," Daryl says what I am thinking, figuring out his choice faster than I am able to.

I am taken back though, as I would have expected him to be the first to back Rick up without a second thought. Just like he would have with Merle before. Like he said to me this morning, he'd chosen to leave The Prison group after finding Merle again despite finding out that he worked for The Governor before. He gave up his friends for his family, following Merle in the direction that he knew was wrong for the both of them. But I guess that Daryl Dixon isn't one to just follow blindly behind anyone anymore. He thinks things through and doesn't miss a detail.

"You say this Dawn, she's jus', tryina keep it together, right?" the Dixon asks Noah not a moment later.

"Tryin an' Doin' are two different things," is the youth's unconfident response.

"You take two of 'er cops away, what choices does she have?" Daryl shrugs as Rick faces him and listens to what he has to say. "Everybody goes home." The Dixon raises his finger to point it at Tyreese. "Like he said."

Well, I guess that settles it then.

**Carl's POV**

Judith finally stopped screaming a few minutes ago. Luckily she didn't attract any walkers from outside. So that's good.

I'm about to go and see her, distract myself from the dread that crawls through my mind in a merciless circle, wearing down the same part of me over and over again. But Michonne beats me to her. So I try to think of something else to do, looking around the building only to see Gabriel, scrubbing relentlessly away at Gareth's blood stain on the wooden floor.

I remember that Oliver and I never finished sorting the supplies in Gabriel's office last night. So I decide to make use of the time I have and I go and continue the job, grabbing an armful of cans and piling them in the chapel by the benches to the front, and then going back and getting some more. We had put them in Gabriel's office so that Gareth and his Termites wouldn't find us, but now that they're dead and we will be having to move the supplies back out of the office for when we finally, hopefully, get going to D.C. I thought I might as well start.

So once I get all of the food and supplies out of the office, I go back into it to make one last check I have everything, finding that I had left the knife case Oliver and I stocked in the corner of the room.

I crouch down and grab it, lingering in my low position for a moment as the memories of last night flood me with nostalgia and worry, making me suddenly miss Oliver so intensely that the longing for him punches me in the gut.

I want him here. I want his kiss again, his touch, his voice, his scent...

I drift off into my thoughts so far that for a moment, my breath hitches when I swear I feel him here, pressing his lips to mine to reassure me.

An imaginary touch that feels so real.

I lift my hand to my mouth, grazing the ends of my fingers over my lips and wishing to feel it again, but I don't, so stand up, pushing my yearning to the back of my head as I leave the office with the knife case in my arms.

Gabriel is still scraping away at the floor, making no difference to the stain that hasn't faded even with his efforts. Some marks just never go away. Gabriel needs to realise this. If he doesn't then he is going to die. Whether it be by walkers, exposure, or people, unless he learns how it works now he won't live for much longer.

I unravel the case in front of him on the floor, it already has two machetes and two knives in it, so I go and grab a rifle, a dagger, an axe and a pistol from the supplies pile, before placing them in a row on the floor with the other close combat weapons. All the while, Gabriel doesn't regard me and only continues to clean.

"Pick one," I say quietly, motioning to them all.

He only shakes his head, obsessively scrubbing the same spot as he has been scrubbing for the last hour.

"You need to learn how to defend yourself," I tell him matter-of-factly. "We can teach you."

He finally stops and looks up at me, his expression tense and arched. "Defend myself?" he asks incredulously. "They said they'd go."

I narrow my eyes at him, his innocence becoming more and more concerning by the day, and the innocence will only get him killed. "They were liars, and murderers."

"Just like us."

"We protected ourselves," I reason confidently. "They wanted us dead... You're lucky your church has lasted this long." I pause, glancing at the intact building that we are all hiding inside of. But I know that before long it will only be another Lost Cause. Just like Home. The Prison. Hershel's Farm. The CDC. The Quarry. "You can't stay in one place anymore," I find myself continuing out loud. "Not for too long. A-an' once you're out there... you're gonna find trouble you can't hide from... You need to know how to fight."

It takes a moment, but my words prove to be enough to convince the priest, and I watch as he reaches forward and takes a machete from the case.

"Good choice," I praise truthfully, "but, you- you're not holding it right. You gotta be able to, _drive _it down," I instruct, demonstrating the movement to show him how to properly dispatch a walker. "'Cause sometimes their skulls, aren't as soft, an' you need to be able to-"

"I'm sorry."

While I was explaining, I could see the building hysteria in the priests expression, but I was trying to ignore it, hoping that he would pull himself together before he let it get to him. I was wrong.

Gabriel gulps, looking away to compose himself before standing and facing me. "I need to lie down," he says.

I nod, granting him the permission I don't have any power to refuse as he ambles into his office alone. I meet Michonne's gaze, pursing my lips as I realise how troubled she looks. But she shakes it off and curves her lips into a smile. I do my best to return the gesture, walking over to take a seat beside her.

"Think he'll get used to it?" I ask her.

Michonne sighs, rolling her head to look at me and shrugs, "Eventually. We all have to."

"Or he'll die," I say bluntly.

Michonne's brow knits into a frown and she tilts her head a little.

"Don't," I mutter, sighing irritably.

"What?"

"_That. _Looking at me like... _that_," I say. "Like you're afraid that I'm gonna go insane."

Michonne relaxes her brow, "I wasn't," she says. "I'm just... worried."

I cock my eyebrow, "Exactly," I grumble, looking away.

"No, I'm not worried about you being crazy, Carl. I'm worried about you becoming too used to it all. You're so young. I jus' don't want you to forget what it's like bein' a kid... not worrying."

"You sound like my dad," I mumble, rubbing my eyes tiredly.

"Maybe," Michonne agrees, nudging my arm. "But he's got a point. And it's not jus' you I'm worried about. I'm _worried _about everything. Them out there. You. Judith. Gabriel... Maggie, Glenn an' the others. D.C. But I'm like you. I'm used to the worry and the danger... But I can remember what its like to not have to worry about all of that. It may not seem that way, but I remember the good stuff."

"I remember," I reassure her, raising my brow and holding her eye contact. For a moment I try to remember the feeling of not worrying about anything, but I have to admit, I struggle, and my brow crinkles into a frown. "I-I... I think," I add, unsure now and suddenly realising that it's just the memories I remember from before, not how I felt while I lived them.

Michonne sighs, understanding my frustration.

I stay silent for a while, racking my brain for something that reminds me of that No Worry Feeling. But nothing comes to mind, no emotions, no reminders, no recollection. So I try something else. I think of something I have now that makes the worry go away. Really go away. It's probably pretty easy to guess, and I hate to sound like a mushy little sap. But it's true. Oliver is what grants me that reassurance.

My expression softens at my epiphany. But obviously, I don't voice it. Though, not much gets past Michonne, like she has told me before, and so she smirks at me.

"See," she says smugly, "I told you he'd be good for you."

I swear, a herd of walkers could crash through here and it wouldn't subdue the grin that suddenly spreads across my face. But I stay quiet, my reaction to her words enough of an agreement for her to understand, and not trusting myself to verbally give my input in fear of making a fool of myself with all of the things I could say I agree with her because of.

A short chuckle escapes Michonne upon witnessing my silent elation, but her expression slowly straightens to a more serious one. I settle, too, knowing that such an expression from her is something to pay my full attention to, as Michonne isn't a woman to waste her voice.

"I heard you two fighting. Last night," she says, wrinkling her brow that slight bit to show one, neat line in the middle of her eyebrows. "Everything okay?"

I swallow my suddenly dry throat, nodding. "It wasn't him who was yelling," I tell her shamefully. "I got mad. Threw, _ravioli, _across the room... Everything just... got a little too much. But we're okay. Really... Guess I'm jus' worried, too."

"Your dad trusts him, you know that right?"

I nod truthfully.

"Thinks of him like he does you. A son."

Again, I nod.

"And you know that he'll keep him safe in every way he can. Oliver will for to him, too. And seeing as they're all out there, havin' each other's back's like we are here... they'll all be fine. And they're gonna bring back Carol and Beth."

I don't nod this time, instead rendered unable to bring myself to and so I just hang my head and scratch my thumbs over my eyebrows.

Realising that we are done here, Michonne stands up and goes to Gabriel's office to check on him.

A long time passes in almost total silence. The only noise I hear is Michonne and Gabriel's mutterings, and Judith, her light breathy cooing as she drifts off into her noon nap, and the faint blowing of tree branches, brushing together from outside, and the birds and insects, chirping and creaking in their habitats. It stays like this, and I let it soothe me, embracing the quiet and letting it wrap around my heart to slow its beats, leaking into my lungs to slow my breathing, too, and when it is done its duty there, it trickles into every other muscle in my body to allow me to melt into the bench seat. Not asleep, just relaxed, as if I have turned off half of my mind to let it wonder among my imagination.

I see flickers and blinking slides of my memories flashing into my vision, some of them things I had almost forgotten I had even witnessed and all of them seem to move in chronological order before me.

Swaying inside of the tire swing on my front yard, reading my comic _Invincible._ Liking it so much that for my birthday I got a T-shirt from Mom and Dad of my favourite character, _Science Dog. _

Drawing a picture of a puppy in third grade and Mrs. Mueller liking it so much that she stuck it on the edge of the white board for a whole year.

Mom, kneeling on the ground in front of me and telling me that my father was shot and in the hospital.

Desperately and frantically begging the nurse to give him my blood to save him, and my mom having to pull me off of her and talk me out of the idea.

Shane, barging through our home and ordering us to pack our bags and leave. Telling us that Dad was dead, and watching Mom cry and scream until she was able to collect herself together again, burying her grief as she rushed to collect all of our family photos and albums and everything else she thought we needed.

The bombing of Atlanta.

Meeting Sophia and making a new friend. A best friend.

Meeting Dale, Andrea and Amy, and all of us retreating up to The Quarry with a lot of other people. Who, only two are still known to be alive today apart from me; Glenn and Daryl, and both of which I am not even completely sure are alive anymore.

Then Dad coming back... finding us again...

Camp getting overrun... losing the first, few, dozen people.

The CDC.

Losing Jacqui.

The Old People's Home.

The Highway.

Losing Sophia.

The deer before I got shot.

Waking up at The Farm, and meeting Hershel, Maggie, Beth, Jimmy, Otis, Patricia.

Finding Sophia and watching Dad put a bullet between her eyes.

Finding out that Mom was pregnant.

Causing Dale's death.

Watching my father kill Shane... and then me having to shoot his walker.

Losing The Farm.

Those eight months on the road.

Finding the Prison.

Everything with The Governor.

Getting a sister... but losing my mother.

Shooting that kid in The First Attack.

Losing Andrea.

Adjusting to everyone new at The Prison and having my gun taken away, exchanging my survival instincts for Playing Farmer, and trying so hard to enjoy it while I hated every moment.

Then... meeting him.

A small, unintentional smile grows over my lips, remembering how dismissive of Oliver I was the first time I saw him. His overwhelmed, timid face sticking out the back of that truck. I remember watching him drive by, wanting to hold his eye contact to examine him for what he was going to be worth to our group. I remember him averting his eyes, too introverted and submissive to hold my gaze, as if I had won a challenge like a lion keeping its territory.

"Was it him who taught you the machete trick?"

I startle into full consciousness as Michonne's voice snaps me into reality again as if she can read my thoughts. I stare at her for a split second, relieved that that isn't the case, rather that she is only continuing our conversation from all that time ago. I take in the curiosity on her expression, grateful that she has decided to humanely veer the subject from what everyone else is doing right now to spare my worry.

"I think it's jus' more of a case of trial and error. Picked up a few things from him, an' you with your katana 'n' stuff."

"Well, I'm glad to be of some kind of help to you," she understates.

I nod in sarcastic agreement, but when I take a moment I realise that she wasn't really joking. I furrow my brow, sitting up straighter to get a better look at her. "Michonne, you've been every kind of help to me. And to everyone else. You know that, right?"

She smiles, lifting her hand to rest it on my shoulder. "Yeah," she allows and is about to say something else. But that's when we swivel around in our seats at the screaming from outside.

"LET ME IN... PLEASE?! LET ME IN! CARL! MICHONNE! HELP! HELP ME!"

**Notes**

**Once again, congratulations to fictoinboy for your proposal! So happy for you! XXX**

Yeah, so, because I'm lazy I'm just gonna skip that whole bit that comes next. It wont change at all from what we all already watched, so, yeah, hope you don't mind, I just can't see anyone wanting to read something exactly the same X

I thought that the awkward conversation in the truck was an effective ice breaker for Noah and Oliver.

One of my friends told me that he thought it was funny that sometimes when he mentions that he is gay, people automatically assume that sexuality is all they can talk about with him, and he says it's always awkward, and he sometimes has to veer the conversation away and prove that he can talk about something other than sexuality. I thought it was a nice blunder that I could interpret into Noah too :) but I love his character, and so I wanted him and Oliver to be friends :)

Also, I thought it was important that Oliver noticed how straining this all is getting to Tyreese. I haven't gone into much detail of their friendship, and though they are not nearly as close as Oliver and Carol are, they still respect each other, and so I was glad that Oliver got off Tyreese's back a little when he noticed Daryl staring at him too. I f that makes sense. Because it's all about small gestures, like Daryl choosing to second Tyreese's choice in trading, because he knew that Tyreese wasn't happy too.

Haha, oh dear, I'm so obsessed with this show.

**Don't forget to check out Stale M&M's : Stories of Oliver's Past **

**Preview: I really couldn't think of a preview on it. Sorry. Just, that it'll be out next week, and then the last chapter for a while will be out the week after :)**

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	44. Chapter 44 Crossed

**The Flash Fanatic **Aw! Thank you!

**TheDarkerSide123 **Haha, yeah, I think I get the picture. XD Yeah, Noah is a great character. I'm hoping he and Oliver can be friends too :) And wow, thanks! I didn't think it'd give anyone the "feels". I actually was gonna delete that part. Thinking it would be a waste of time, but I had to give Michonne a little thank you moment. :D AWW I'm sure we'll be okay. I'll try my best to keep the tables from turning. X)

**loyalwolf **A DAY!? Fuck! That's amazing! Yeah, I quickly realised that writing any story is impossible unless you know the characters. Which is why writing Oliver's past is helping a lot with this. It's been so much fun developing his character and others around him. Thanks for the support. It really means the world!

**inazumahunter **Yeah, thank you for seeing that. I get so worried that splitting them up so many times will piss people off. But it's been okay so far, I just don't wanna push my luck. But yes, that was why I did it this time. Oliver and Carol are as close as mother and son. On the road since the girls they have become as close as Oliver has with Carl (emotionally, obviously not romantically, haha) And so Oliver kind of has no choice but to help save her.

**Guest **No, not late at all! You should put a small name like "Harry" or "Someone" so that when I reply to you, you will know who I'm replying to. I get worried that the anonymous guests will be confused because their ID's are the same as each others xx But fuck! Thanks so goddamn much for the support!

**Oliver's POV**

Three...

_It has to happen all to plan._

Two...

_All to plan. All to plan. Has to happen at the right moment. Can't go wrong. All to plan. All to plan._

One...

_Gunshot at noon._

**BANG!**

_All to plan._

Daryl, Sasha, Tyreese, and I watch from the roof of the warehouse as Rick and Noah stand in the ally way below. Rick quickly hands the youth the gun he had just used to give away our whereabouts. Noah takes it, and with one last nod he turns on his heel and darts towards the street. At the same instant, Rick hurtles back towards the warehouse and in a moment runs through the building and is up on the roof with me and the others.

_All to plan._

"Talk to me, Oliver."

"I see him," I whisper loudly to the Grimes, glaring down at the roads below that the roof is allowing us to observe.

Rick screeches to a halt beside me, his head swinging around to search for our bait. I point to Noah, watching him stop on the side walk and peer around the wall. He turns around and glances us at us, waiting for our signal.

Everything is silent for a long moment while we wait, ears and eyes peeled and every other sense tingling on red-alert.

_Listen... _

_Look... _

_Don't miss a thing... _

_Listen... _

_Look... _

_Don't miss a thi-_

"There coming," I blurt suddenly, hearing the faint growling of an engine coming from the street slightly to our left.

Rick's expression tenses, "You sure?" he asks, as he nor anyone else has heard it.

I nod without hesitating. "Yes," I tell him, realising that there is no time to doubt myself right now... not anymore.

He nods, looking to Noah and raising his arms, and I am short on his tail, lifting my arms up high in the air and holding them there.

Noah nods, instantly launching himself off of his good leg and hobbling as fast as he can back towards the warehouse. Not a moment too late, because the cop car speeds into everyone's vision and hearing. All of us duck out of its sights and I hear Rick let out a short, tense sigh of relief, realising that if we had waited a moment longer, like he thought, their wouldn't have been enough time for Noah to run. But the relief doesn't last long, as we have things to do.

Now.

_Another shot to give away his whereabouts._

**BANG!**

_All to plan._

I hear the decorated car's tyres screech as they turn the corner to fly down the ally, spotting Noah like we need them to.

_All to plan. All to plan._

We are on the bottom floor now, at the back entrance of the building, hidden out of sight but peering around the wall just enough to watch the car swing to a halt in front of Noah and knock him off balance, sending him crashing to the floor with a grunt.

I wince, feeling my own bones shake from watching the blow.

But Noah brings himself to his feet again, a little worse for ware, but alright.

The two police officers, a Caucasian woman with a loose bob in her wavy brown hair, and a bald, Hispanic/American man, leap out of the vehicle, raising their weapons and advancing on our comrade.

"Put it down, Noah!" the woman commands.

"Put the gun down!" the other officer seconds, and I notice the underlying sympathy in his order.

Noah's a decent actor, I'll give him that. So for a short moment he keeps up his running act, soon to relent and pretend that he is admitting defeat, doing as they say and placing Rick's gun on the ground.

"Hands up. Turn around," the woman tells him, advancing on him as he obeys her.

The male officer approaches him and I hear the zip of the restraints as Noah is held captive. "You let me know if it's too tight, okay?" I think I hear him say. _**He must be one of The Good Guys... **__Doesn't mean I trust him any more._

Rick gives the silent cue, and the five of us emerge from the warehouse, aiming our weapons at our opponents as we edge closer.

_All to plan._

"Thought you were smart, Noah," the woman underestimates him. "You think we wouldn't hear you?"

There is a short pause as the five of us come into full view to see them, silently creeping even closer to catch them by as much surprise as we can.

_All to plan._

"Where're those rotters you were shootin' at?" the male officer finally realises the distinct lack of undead threat.

Rick's whistle to my left is all they need to finally notice us. But it's too late, and even as the officers swivel around on their heels and train their aim on us now, they know they have lost the upper hand that they never had in the first place.

"Hands," Rick commands slowly, yet no less intimidatingly.

"What do you want?" the woman urges.

My heart pounds.

"Whatever this is, we can help," the male officer tries.

But we aren't having any of it.

"You do what we say," Rick tells them, "we don't hurt you."

It takes a moment, and my finger kisses the trigger of my glock, waiting for the command from my brain to tell my ligament to pull.

"Okay," the male officer proves he has a working brain cell in his head, opening his palms and putting his hands up. Closely followed by his female partner.

"Good," Rick praises reassuringly. "Now turn around. Put your guns on the floor and _kneel_."

I get a flashback of Gabriel's office door, hearing Rick say those exact words to Gareth and his Termites on the other side of it. _**Focus.**_

The two officers do as they are told, and Sasha and Daryl go about collecting the officers' weapons from them. I pull out my knife, walking over to Noah as he turns his back on me, and with a few precise slices against the plastic, I release him from his bounds.

"Thanks," he says, rubbing his wrists as he turns and walks past me.

I nod to him, glancing at Tyreese who is stood slightly behind me to my left. His eyes linger on my knife for a moment and I shift it's handle in my loose grip, almost as if it is too cold for my skin as we both painfully think of the child who owned it before me... the child who used it to kill her own sibling... But I focus on the next task, sheathing her knife and looking back to Rick and the others.

"We need to talk," he tells the defenceless officers as they are bound by Daryl and Sasha. "Water if you need some, an' food."

"Mind if I ask you somethin'?" the male officer asks as he is brought to his feet, Daryl's hand firmly planted on his shoulder, and when Rick neither confirms of denies him, simply glares, the guy takes it as a yes. "The way you talk. The way you carry yourself... Were you a cop?"

No verbal response, but Rick's silence is all the answer the man needs.

He gives a wan smile, panting from his adrenaline rush. "Believe it or not, I was too."

I want to call it a smirk, but it seems like more of a grimace, or a snarl. But whatever it is, it grows over Rick's expression and he nods slightly, before turning to face the rest of us. "That's Lamson," Noah informs Rick. "He's one o' the good ones."

_Well. Fucking fantastic that then, isn't it?! It's good to know that he isn't one of the bastards who take advantage of the innocent compared to the rest. __**Oliver, there's no time for your fucking sarcasm. Focus on wh-**_

I could hear the screeching tyres, but I was so caught up my petty irritation to realise that the noise wasn't only in my imagination, and in one moment the plan seems to crumble around us. It's jagged structure flaking away in the wind like the delicate web it barely was.

"WATCH OUT!"

My shout is throat tearing, drawing my gun as the unknown vehicle speeds around the alley and drives right for us! Adrenaline rushes through my veins and we all shoot at it, only to find that the front screen is bullet proof. I feel a hard wrench at my collar, and Rick has dragged me out of the way of the car and behind the cover of a few barrels and crates.

The back window smashes from either mine or Tyreese's bullet, and then the front-side, revealing the Caucasian, bald policeman, given his uniform, crouching out of shot and pointing the barrel of his rifle at us as he stops the car.

We fire in crazy frenzy, trying hard not to waste too much of our ammo as we hear and manage to see snippets of our hostages climbing into the back of the car, but the driver is covering them too well, and we can't risk popping our heads over to get a good shot with out getting our heads blown off. So we hear the tyres scream as he hits the gas and hurtles down more back alleys away from us, and I catch the white cross in the rear view window, just like the car that kidnapped Beth.

We crash out of cover, sprinting as fast as we can after them. Sasha, the sharp shooter she is, manages to flat out a back tyre, and Rick brings us to a slow as we round the corner after them, knowing that they won't get far with their vehicle like that.

The scene before us is one I have never seen before, yet seems all too familiar, bitterly reminding me of The Prison when it was attacked, and Terminus when we attacked it. Debris is scattered everywhere, burnt vehicles and singed buildings... and the dead... their active corpses littering the cement. The smell is different though. At The Prison most of the dead were fresh, same with Terminus, and so the blood and gore was more of an irony odour... but here, after so long, the stench stings my nose and burns my eyes, causing me to blink away the tears and breathe through my mouth.

Death.

That is the only way to explain the stench.

Pure and Merciless Death.

Walkers are everywhere, though, instead of them being up and ambling, they are emancipated, decayed, rotten, barely still moving after over a year and a half of lying there where they came to their demise. Their skin is sagged and melted from lying out in the Georgian blaze all-day-every-day, and I try not to look at them as they weakly reach out for the first flesh they must have seen in a while.

I follow Rick's gaze to the water tower above us just ahead, reading "EVAC HERE". I squint up at the unintentional lie written in bold on the side of it, thinking of all of the hopeful people that came here only to die in vain. The same people that are the very undead unfortunates I am walking past now.

We hear the snap of the car door opening, and then two heads that I recognise as Lamson and the woman running as fast as they can across the courtyard and down another back alley, still bound.

"Through!" Rick orders roughly, breaking into a run which we all copy. "Follow me."

Ahead of Daryl now and just behind the rest, I leap over hungry corpses, feeling my sheathed machete pat against my spine as I run and gripping my glock in my right hand.

It's the grunt I hear first, sudden, and the blow that causes it is hard and forceful, and I look over my shoulder as I run, only to screech to a stop as I realise that Daryl is no longer among us. Desperately, I look back to Rick and the other's, but they are already a good fifty yards ahead and to yell for them would only draw unwanted attention, and they can't afford to be distracted from catching the officers.

"_**No one gets left behind. But you gotta make sure you keep it that way."**_

"Shit!" I hiss at myself, and my mind reels as I fumble on my feet, letting out a growl as I swivel on my heels and go back for the Dixon. "Dammit dammit dammit dammit!" I mutter angrily as I run, struggling to think clearly as this is all definitely not going to plan anymore.

_**Pookie better be fucking dying right now!**_

_Oh no..._

Only now, as I see the situation he is in, do I truly realise how completely not amusing my previous thought was.

I have known Daryl for the best part of three months now, hearing the stories and legends of him about how he's saved more lives than I can count, and how he has a fierce reputation as someone not to mess with. So, I sort of had it in my mind that he was invincible, that no one could possibly get the better of him. Especially the way Patrick would often go on about him until it felt like my ears were bleeding. But only now, as I see him, do I truly realise how quickly a bad situation can go to completely unthinkable in moments.

Even for Daryl Dixon.

My eyes widen as I see the third cop, escaped and gone unnoticed, now pinning Daryl to the ground, choking him with two iron hands clamped around his neck as he shoves him into the cement, too close to two emancipated walkers that lay right beside them, snapping their jaws for Daryl's flesh as he tries to fend off the officer.

My mind convulses as I try to think of a way to help him, knowing that to shove the cop away would risk both of them falling into the walker's jaws, and if I shoot I could miss my target. So I stop in my tracks and aim at the walker closes to Daryl's arm, both men unaware of my presence since they are so caught up in wrestling and trying not to die.

But just as I'm about to pull the trigger, Daryl's hand blocks my target, and I watch in terror as his fingers enter the rotten creature's mouth. I anticipate his choked cry. I expect the blood to pour from his wound, adrenaline poisoning me as I keep my gun aimed at the walker, waiting for a clear shot of it and unable to do anything at all. But neither a cry or any blood ensues. Well, not from Daryl at least. Because what does happen is nothing I have ever witnessed before.

Missing its clenched teeth by milliseconds, Daryl gouges his fingers into the walker's eye sockets and violently wrenches its whole skull from its shoulders. Blood pours from the walker's torn body part, spinal cord and rotten muscle flying with Daryl's hand as he whacks the head against his living opponent's face. Degraded, melted flesh and bone hitting its fresher opposite, and the cop cries a grunt as he stumbles away.

Daryl hits him again, and I finally have a clear shot at the second walker and pull the trigger, hitting it square between its eyes mid-growl.

"Stop!" I bark, my eyes wide and tense and my jaw fixed as I train my aim at the officer. An image flickers over my mind, a flashback of back at Terminus, screaming that same order to that woman, Mary, when she almost killed Carol... right before we left her to the walkers.

Both men freeze, spinning around to face me.

Upon realising it is me, Daryl droops his shoulders in exhaustion and relief, panting and trying to catch his breath again.

But the officer is less fortunate. Reluctantly, but seeing that he hasn't a choice, he complies to me, "Okay. You win ass hole."

My arms shake unintentionally, the adrenaline and fear catching up with me. But I don't loosen my grip or waver my hold on my weapon, keeping it trained between his eyes as he sways and shifts his weight in his slightly dazed state. But my efforts seem to amuse the police man slightly, in some sympathetically sadistic way, and I watch a dry, tense grimace work it's way across his mouth as he holds his hands parallel to his head on either side.

"You're jus' a kid... They got you doin' their dirty work already, huh?" he asks, shifting his weight as he slowly stands up, his expression wide and afraid, yet menacing and dangerous. "You're not gonna shoot me... you're jus' as scared as the rest of us."

I hear running behind me, recognising the rushed footsteps as Rick. Though I keep staring at the cop, holding my gun a few feet from his head and refusing to let my fear take over me.

"Oliver," Daryl gestures for me to lower my gun, poising himself behind the man to ready himself to restrain him. I do as he says, and Daryl quickly grabs him and subdues him.

Swallowing, I holster my glock and glance behind me at Rick, who catches my gaze and holds it for a moment, worried and concerned as if to gauge my behaviour on what he will do next.

"He ain't gonna shoot you," Daryl grumbles at the cop, then glances at Rick and I. "Three's better 'n two."

Rick steps closer to me and I turn to face him, watching as he dips his head slightly in an attempt to reassure me.

"We got Lamson and the woman," he tells us.

I nod, relieved as I glance away and tense my jaw.

"Good," Daryl mutters, sighing and panting.

Rick takes my shoulder, gently pulling me to accompany him over to the others. He whistles, and the five of them emerge around the building to come back to us, Lamson and the woman cop dipping their heads and tensing their jaws or glancing nervously around. But all I feel is relief, letting a tired smile lift the corner of my lips as I exchange grateful glances with Tyreese, Sasha and Noah.

"What happened?" Tyreese asks, resting his hand on my shoulder.

"Daryl almost got jumped," I answer breathlessly. "But, he took care of it."

"Take your inhaler, Man."

"No, I'm good for now. Just, gotta sit for a minute."

"Alright," Sasha says, gently tugging the woman officer to walk with her, and I try to ignore the way the woman looks me up and down, as if she can't believe I'm even here or something. "C'mon, we'll get back. Take a few minutes to sort everything out."

"Yeah," Rick seconds the female Williams, leading the way.

_All back to plan... finally._

We all head back to the warehouse. The cops are given a drink and some food if they want it. Sasha manning the female officer, Tyreese with the guy who almost got Daryl, and Daryl guarding Lamson.

Rick assembles me and Noah, going over the plan with the youth again and again, and me listening silently as I make absolutely sure that I absorb and remember every detail, compulsively scratching at my fingers, and when that starts hurting I switch to pulling at my beanie every few moments instead.

The others enter the main room in which Noah, Rick and I are situated, all three of us briefly turning our heads up to regard them as they stroll into the room, before focusing on the plan again.

"Your friend, what's his name?" the female cop asks, and Rick ignores her as he continues to talk to Noah, encouraging Noah to ignore her as well.

But like usual, my curiosity gets the better of me and so I listen, staying knelt beside Rick but keeping my ears alert to hear her.

"Look, I need to talk to him, your plan's gonna get me and my friends killed," she says irritably when no one answers her.

"We're gonna make it work," Sasha says sternly.

"It would work if you had different cops to trade."

Rick and Noah are deep in conversation by this point, the very conversation which I have managed to fall out of in focusing on the officer so much, and so neither of the conversing men seem to hear the woman. But I do, and so does Sasha, Daryl and Tyreese, and they bring the six of them to a halt a few hundred yards away from us to talk.

"Dawn's running Grady to the ground," the female officer continues, "a bunch of us want her out, and she knows it. Pretty sure she knows we want Lamson to replace her, too."

"Dawn doesn't know that," I think I hear the other guy say.

"She might," the woman counteracts. "She's smart... so there's a good chance you can't make this deal work, and that'll leave us all dead. But if you let us go. We'll take care of Dawn ourselves... and we'll let your friends go and this is over."

My heart flutters at such a scenario, wanting it so much that it almost hurts to hear her say it with such confidence. But I grit my teeth and push the reassurance away. _Never let your guard down. Never.__** Stick to the plan.**_

"No," Lamson blurts, "we're not gonna do that."

There is a tense pause, only Noah's muttering audible to me until the woman breaks the quiet.

"Do you, _want, _to die?" she asks Lamson incredulously.

"No," he says in a tone that tells me he is done with all of the messing around, though he is gentle to her when he speaks. "I jus' need you to shut up right now."

I find myself actually wanting to hear his opinion, his patience and consideration towards us and his friends since I'd first seen him proving to let the man become slightly trust worthy in my judgement. But I don't act on my thoughts, knowing that he could easily be another Governor after all of this.

_You can't trust people anymore._

_**But like Carl said: Everybody can't be bad.**_

"You can make this work," Lamson says. "But you gotta be able to talk to her."

"Noah told us all about her," Sasha makes her confidence apparent without hesitation.

"I've known her for eight years, Man," Lamson tells her tentatively. "I know this woman. And my only interest, is peaceful resolution, not dying, and sleeping in my bed tonight... So please... Let me help you...? Please?"

That seems to settle it for them.

Daryl turns and gestures us to join their conversation, "Hey, Rick. You're gonna wanna hear this."

Rick and Noah nod to each other, ending their conversation to their satisfaction before standing up, and the three of us join with the rest of our group's conversation.

Lamson explained that Dawn would at first be reluctant to trade. But he was adamant that if we persisted she would cave and agree.

So it is set.

Rick, Daryl, Noah, Tyreese and Sasha all go about to prepare for the task in hand; gathering all of the weapons we can and sorting them to the appropriate handler, and I proceed to assist them, assuming that I will be joining Rick, Noah and Daryl who are planning to go and find an appropriate place to voice our trading proposal to Dawn at. But to my dismay, I soon realise that my prediction is wrong.

I catch Rick's glance at me as he motions for us to speak alone for a moment, and I leave a rifle on the floor and go and join him.

"I'm gonna need you to stay here with Sasha an' Ty, help 'em with the hostages."

I purse my lips and nod, refusing to show my reluctance to sitting this out. But I understand that I will be of more use here, helping keep an eye on the cops while the three of them are out scouting.

"That okay," he asks.

"Yes, Sir."

Rick nods, patting my shoulder and pausing a moment to harden his intense gaze, shifting his eyes between mine as if to examine me.

The confusion on my face must be obvious.

"Oliver," he says finally.

I only blink as a response.

"Earlier... while you were in the courtyard with Daryl?"

Again, I blink.

"The cop... were you gonna kill'm?"

_Oh... I get it now. _

I can see the bitter reminiscence and familiarity in Rick's eyes, knowing what his worry is about now. He has had to deal with this before. In his own son. When Carl shot that kid during The First Prison Attack, taking the teenager's life in cold blood as he surrendered, Rick took away his gun, feeling that in doing so it would spare the boy that he was at the time from any more loss in his humanity, wanting to preserve the last slithers of it that may have remained. Only now do I realise that Rick is worried of the same humanity crushing scenario taking place in me, too.

"No," I tell him truthfully. "I didn't have to... So, I didn't."

"If he'd killed Daryl? Would you of?"

I hold his gaze for a little moment, shifting my eyes between the ones my boyfriend has inherited, until I push my truthful answer from my mouth. "Yes." Despite Rick's intense stare, I let a reassuring smile pull slightly at one corner of my mouth. "But he didn't. So, I didn't have to."

A fraction of a nod in is all Rick responds with.

"Is that alright, Sir?"

Rick smiles. It happens slowly at first, and then all at once. "Yeah."

I smile too, just the sight of him so relieved being enough to make my heart swell with a kind of proud-ness in him and myself alike. But I avert my eyes, considering something in my mind a moment. Until I reach over my shoulder and pull off my machete in sheath.

"Here," I say quietly, handing the trusted weapon over to him. "You'll be needing it more than I will."

Rick begins to shake his head in refusal.

"No, really," I insist honestly. "They'll make you give up your gun for sure. But they might let you keep the machete. And, you've been using it a lot more than I have lately."

Rick lets out a long breath, relenting gratefully. But the stubborn Grimes in him has one last sentiment to give. "Have you got your gun?" he adds.

I smile and nod, "Yep." I unholster it and check how much ammo I've got. "Um, there's a few rounds left in it, but I've still got the extra magazine in my pocket you gave me at The Church," I say reassuringly, patting my pocket. "And I've got my knife," I add, hovering my hand over the thick, black handle, somehow, even in my relatively stable mood I am still unable to touch it when I am not in any urgency to do so.

"Good," Rick says, placing his hand on my shoulder and squeezing gently.

Just then, Daryl and Noah walk towards us, accompanied by Tyreese as he sees them off, leaving Sasha to keep an eye on the cops for a few minutes.

We all leave the building, and I nod and exchange glances with Daryl, Rick and Noah, as Tyreese continues to go over their plan one last time. But upon seeing that I am not needed here, and sweating as the sun blazes down on me, I bid them a brief goodbye, as a meaningful one seems too morbid to do in fear that I will jinx it and it will be a last goodbye instead, and then I head back into the warehouse.

It's only as I stroll into the large room after climbing the steps that I realise that we're short two people.

"Where's Sasha and Lamson?" I ask the two officers, getting the woman a bottle of water when she politely asks for it. I foolishly try to hand it to her, but I realise that in her bound state it is impossible for her to drink by herself, so with her nod to do so, I bring the bottle to her lips and carefully tip it for her to drink.

"They went upstairs," she tells me when she's drank a little, somewhat forcing her smile in the difficult situation we are all in. "Lamson said something about spotting a walker that he knew. Or, something like that at least."

I nod, half grateful for her efforts and the other half relieved that she was gracious enough to cooperate with me instead of trying something neither of us want to have to do right now. Once she nods to tell me she is finished with the drink I twist the lid back on and set the bottle down on the floor beside her.

"Oliver, right?" she asks.

I glance at her without moving my head, weighing out my options and finding no harm in nodding, so I do, and when I hold her gaze she returns the introduction.

"I'm Shepard," she says, then motions to the other officer. "He's Licari."

I nod to him and purse my lips into a small, tense smile, before returning my eyes to Shepard.

"That Rick guy," she says, "he your dad?"

I shake my head no.

"The Redneck?"

I frown slightly, shaking my head again.

"Where're your parents?"

My eyes narrow for a moment, studying her for an answer as to why she is so interested, but in failing to find one, I simply answer her. "They're dead."

She holds my eye contact for a moment. "You're alone?"

"No," I answer truthfully, relaxing my face. "We're all family here."

Shepard sits back slightly, almost doing what I think is a silent scoff as if to say that such a belief is ridiculous. _**I guess in Grady they aren't as quite a close knit group like we are.**_ But her expression softens somewhat, and she holds my gaze, watching it shift between her and the other cop for a moment as I try to study him as well.

"How old are you?" she asks.

"Fifteen," I answer, about to stand up and make myself busy with something else.

But she dips her head and shakes it in that incredulous manner that is beginning to get old. "You're too young to be in a place like this," she mutters.

I keep my mouth shut despite my disagreement, not allowing myself to play along with her in case she is only leading me on or trying to trick me.

She lifts her gaze to me upon my silence. "What _are _you doing here, Oliver? They're only gonna get you killed."

I narrow my eyes, tilting my head inquisitively to ponder why she is so reluctant to relate to mine and everyone else's motive to being here, and why she is so sympathetic about it all too. But it begins to trouble me, and before I let myself get irritated by her lack of faith in us I stand up and step away, turning from both police officers and taking a few strides toward the door leading to upstairs so that I can find Sasha and Lamson. When I get a few hundred yards away from it I stop. Pausing a moment to summon my voice, and then looking over my shoulder to the woman.

"I'm..." I let out a breath, arching my brow slightly. "Ma'am, with all do respect... I'm here to save my family."

With that, I don't wait for a response as I march towards the door that will lead to the stairwell. But it is as I place my palm against the swing-open door, about to push it and walk through, that I hear a loud smash, the violent noise shaking through my eardrums like an earthquake.

I freeze, my breath hitching as I hear frantic footsteps sprinting towards me. Then...

_. . . Oh, shit._

The crash is bone shattering.

A heavy, violent mass shoves itself against the door. So fast and so hard that there is no way for me to brace myself for it or leap out of the way or fight against it, and in a millisecond, the solid, metal surface slams into my body, sending me plummeting to the floor and sliding a good few yards across the room with a loud yelp.

The pain explodes over my whole body and I curl up against the cement, writhing in the agony of the harsh blow and trying not to pass out as every bone in my body shakes and screams in pain. But I hear his footsteps, flying past me, and I force myself to my knees, almost shoving myself to stand up and catching the last glimpse of Lamson as he hurtles out of the building.

"Augh!"

I clutch around my middle, choked gasps pushing their way through my lungs, and certain that Lamson has shattered every bone in my ribcage as every breath I take is agony. Pure agony. But I force myself to run, coughing and choking as I pull out my glock, ignoring the completely shocked expressions on Shepard's and Licari's faces.

I push open the exit doors, gasping and spluttering and wincing as I stumble out into the sun. "St-stop!" I shout, spotting Lamson making a bee line across the courtyard and out the way we came in this array of back alleys.

"Oliver, what happened?!" I hear Tyreese's shout as he sprints around the building towards me, followed by Rick, Noah and Daryl, and relief sweeps over me as I learn they haven't left for the scout yet.

"L-Lamson," I wince as Tyreese takes my arm to steady me, pointing towards the way Lamson escaped with my free hand and clutching my other full with my glock around my middle to try to subdue the pain in my ribs. "H-he got a-away."

In one moment, Rick hurtles off in the direction I pointed, unsheathing my machete which he had fitted through his belt loops, and I stare after him until I can't see him anymore.

"What happened?" Tyreese asks.

But I don't answer him. I spin on my heel and clamber back towards the warehouse, suddenly only one woman in the whole world on my mind, fearing the absolute worst has happened to her.

"Sasha!" I call, my heart racing irregularly as I hobble across the gravel.

Tyreese, Daryl and Noah realise my panic, and the four of us crash back into the building, Noah goes over to the two cops who are still bound in the places we left them, and Tyreese, Daryl and I bolt straight for the metal door and slam it open.

My heart races in my ears as we climb the staircase, adrenaline doing well to fend off my pain, but my lungs still convulse and gasp with every breath I take.

But everything freezes when we finally see the female Williams.

My heart stops and I hold my breath in terror, my mind reeling in grief as I see her sprawled limply across the cold, cement floor turned away from us, and I can see the cracked window above her form that was caused by the blow I heard earlier.

I wince, seeing Tyreese and Daryl tense up as they freeze too. But it doesn't last long. Not long at all. Because before I know it, the three of us rocket to the woman, our hearts and muscles screaming from the adrenaline as Tyreese drops to his knees beside his sister and rolls her over onto her back.

I see the gash on her forehead on the left side of her hair line and I flinch, my eyes skimming in a frenzy over the blood splatter on the floor and over her wound, the red liquid running slowly down her forehead as Tyreese pulls her to lay across his lap. I suddenly get a flashback, what feels like the hundredth one today, so vivid that a wave of dread consumes me. Picturing Michonne in a similar state as Sasha is now, just before The Governor came out of nowhere and slammed his gun into my temple. Half expecting the same thing to happen now, my head darting around and my heart pounding as I search for the monster to jump out on us. _**Calm down, Oliver. This isn't The Governor's doing. This is another threat. And right now you need to focus. If you don't it's going to cost yours and everyone's lives.**_

"Sasha?" Tyreese mutters, gently shaking her shoulders, "Sasha. Wake up, please?"

I crouch down to her and place my fingers against her neck, wincing and trying to stop the shake in my extremity as I search for any sign of life. Then, I feel a strong, relentless, beautiful heart beat, and I almost collapse with relief.

Tyreese has almost the same reaction, understanding my body language alone. He tries again to rouse her, "Sasha," he mutters along with a gentle pat on her shoulder.

"Mmmgh," escapes her lips on a drowsy, pained mumble.

"Sasha!" Tyreese gasps with relief.

She sits up, hissing through her teeth as her hand instinctively raises to her injury.

"Go easy," I tell her gently, hardly noticing my own injuries anymore even when my voice wheezes and my lungs force me to cough.

But Tyreese glances at me, "Where's your inhaler?" he asks, noticing my struggling airways more than I had, suggesting I use it with his head gesture to the pocket he knows I keep it in.

I take a dose, feeling the painful relief almost instantly.

"She okay?" Noah asks, rushing into the room.

"Yeah," Daryl says as he and Tyreese help Sasha and I to our feet.

I step away, limping, but knowing I need to carry myself to allow them to focus on Sasha as I can see she looks as if she's about to drop right there, but then again, I do too.

"Did the ohers know about this?" Tyreese asks Noah.

"I don't know," Noah shakes his head. "Oliver?"

He tries to help me walk, but I decline his help and answer him instead, too confused and worried to focus on my injuries yet. "I don't know. I-I don't think so. I was speaking to them before... They didn't seem like they knew."

"I'll take care of 'em," Daryl growls. "You sure you can walk?"

"Y-yeah," I say, straightening my posture, only to hunch and limp again, but we're through the doors so I just go and sit against a support beam.

My left knee throbs, along with my chest, left arm, both wrists and the left side of my face, as all body parts took the brunt of Lamson's ambush and I know will have some good bruises later, along with the shallow scratches covering them now from the slide across the floor I took. My ribs ache especially, the pain making me gasp when I breath or move too much.

But I ignore it as best I can, knowing there is nothing anyone can do.

**Carl's POV**

_Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_

The Church is gone. Overrun.

Gabriel snuck out, broke a hole in his office and ran off to the school Bob was taken to, only for the prest to come back and find himself being chased by the dead. Michonne and I saved him. Got him back inside. Having to break open the front doors and let the walkers in as well though. But we got out. Used the same way Gabriel did the first time through the office floor boards and then boarded up the front doors again before the walkers could get out.

Now we are just waiting, stood outside of the building and staring irritably at the rotten arms that are slowly but surely prying their way out.

It wont hold for long. Like I said... Nothing ever does anymore.

But we can't leave. We have no where to go. We need to stay in order for everyone to find us again. If- I mean, _when_, the doors open, we will have to fight, but with Judith here it is going to be so dangerous, so we'll need somewhere... anywhere for cover. But I'm not running, not until they come back. Not until my father is here and Oliver is in my arms again.

Just as my panic seeps into every crevice of my body, threatening to engulf me completely, it amplifies unbearably as the wooden plank we boarded over the door begins to crack.

I tense up, gripping my sister to my chest possessively. "Where do we go?" I ask worriedly.

But before I get an answer that no body has the knowledge to give anyway, I snap my head around to the road at the roar of an engine.

I startle, watching as a blood covered fire truck drives right into The Church steps, blocking the entrance.

But then a smile spreads over my face, so wide that it could run away with itself if I let it. Because I recognise the driver. A well-built, brilliantly ginger and scowling like always. Then, his accomplices, the Korean man and his beautifully familiar wife, grinning madly as they all lock their eyes on us, and every nerve in my body buzzes and screams with relief all at the same time.

**Notes**

This chapter got pretty interesting to me at a few times. It's really peculiar seeing how strangers perceive Oliver. Because the main group see him as pretty much their equal now, bar his age, (which automatically makes him someone to protect as it does Carl and Judith) but all the same they know what he's capable of. But with Shepard and Licari and Lamson, they only see him as a kid, telling him he'll be the one that gets hurt in this and doubting his actions. Plus, with him getting injured a moment ago, it's really becoming apparent to me that Oliver really is just a kid in all of this. Mortal and vulnerable and innocent in a world of death and danger and corruption :) Who knew I'd learn stuff from writing fanfiction? Ha!

Okay, I'm done now x

**Preview: Oliver is injured and weakened from his injuries. But they have one more task to do before they can save their friends. Grady turns out to be nothing they had ever expected. The very last chapter until the season finale comes out on TV. The coda. Then... everything will change. Haha, well, probably not everything. But lots of shit will, okay? Okay.**

**:)**

Don't forget to leave a review, thank you so much!

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	45. Chapter 45 Coda

**The Flash Fanatic **Thank you! I love your support!

**Prettyprincess45 **It's okay, Silly! You don't have to review xx Haha thank you!

**TheDarkerSide123 **Haha, please keep me updated to any flipping tables. And yes, please do check the other story. You'll learn a lot more about Oliver, and his relationship with Carl xx And AW! Thank you. That's funny, I thought it was just me that does that! Yeah, I was tempted to let Oliver slip up and kill him, but it would have screwed up my later plans. (Plans that you're about to read...) Agh, saving characters is such a delicate subject in this show though. Every death means something. Argh!

**BurningFireBird **Haha. So. Many. Typos. I'm the worst. I must reread my chapters at least four times before I upload, and I still miss shit. It's infuriating! Haha, feel lfree to set up a twitter account for them haha, I'm not sure how twitter really works, but if you do I'll like it, or, follow it? Is't that what you do? Ugh, technology! Thanks for the support!

**Oliver's POV**

I'm sat against the support beam nearest the others, trying not to breath or move as I attempt to recuperate from my injuries, or, at least, not feel them anymore.

Rick isn't back yet.

Daryl has just finished interrogating the other two cops about Lamson's escape and is now satisfied that they had no idea of his intentions any more than we did.

He glances at me, "Y'alright?" he asks as he steps in front of me, crouching down to look me over.

I nod, but the movement stings badly and my wince is terrible.

Daryl lets out a quiet grunt as he reaches forward and gestures me to tilt my head to the side, so I do as he wants, letting him examine the forming bruises on my face from the scrape I took across the floor.

"I'm fine," I say, but my voice betrays me and I erupt into a fit of painful coughs and gasps, cowering badly when my rib cage screams for me to stop breathing.

He narrows his eyes analytically and kneels down so that he is right in front of me, motioning his head up and gesturing to my arms. So I lift them, only able to do so to the extent that they are barely parallel to my shoulders. But I struggle from the pain. To help, Daryl pulls his crossbow off his shoulder and lays it beside me before carefully reaching over and aiding to hold my arms up for me, waiting a moment until I stop wincing from it.

"Okay?" he asks gruffly.

I hold my breath, as it is the only way to subdue the pain, and when it's almost bearable I nod.

"Cough a sec."

_What?! Why the hell would he tell me to do that?! _

I almost refuse, but the tentativeness in his tone is apparent to me even though he keeps it subtle, and quite frankly it surprises me. I have never seen him this hospitable towards me before, sure, we're on good terms and we respect each other, but it's never really been anything more substantial than that. I'd never considered that Daryl was really ever concerned for my well being.

So, gritting my teeth, I do as he says and cough on command, but it turns into a groany yelp when my ribs throb, forcing me to drop my arms and shallow my breathing. In the same moment, Daryl removes his grip on me, sitting back and chewing on his thumb as he thinks.

"You're not dyin', so tha's alright," he jests dryly.

I grunt a pained laugh, stopping myself and wincing badly when it hurts too much.

"Looks like you got a few cracked ribs. Can't do much 'bout 'em 'cept help the pain," he tells me, standing and going over to the duffel bag to rummage through it.

It's the same orange duffel bag, I realise, as the one I remember Carl using when we were moved to The Office Blocks, and the same duffel bag that he told me he, Michonne and his dad grabbed on the journey back from a run to King County once, taking it from a dead hitch hiker that had begged them for his life mere hours earlier, only for them to drive right past him. Carl told me that they met a man called Morgan that day too, said he and his son were the first people Rick met after he woke up from his coma. But Morgan stayed behind on both occasions so I've never put any more thought into him. Also, it's the same supply bag that I realise was at Terminus, as I remember the Termite woman who invaded The Church with Gareth was using it, she must have taken it from one of the others when they got to the train station.

_**Jesus, I think that supply bag is the most cultured object in the room! It's been everywhere! **_I almost grin at myself, watching as Daryl grabs a small white and blue box and comes back over, popping a few white paracetamol tablets out into my palm and handing me a water bottle.

"Pain killers'll help," he tells me. "You'll have a few more war wounds to add to your collection." With the scar on my lip, temple and abdomen I must look like I've gotten on the wrong side of a wild bear. "But in 'bout four or five weeks your body'll be healed on its own. You gotta make sure you keep breathin' normally though, an' if you needa cough then you gotta make sure you go 'head 'n' do, other wise you got more chance o' gettin' an infection."

"Thanks," I say gratefully, throwing the pills in my mouth and swigging them down with the water, wincing again, but dealing with it. I look at him, catching his eye contact and relaxing my expression instantly to try not to show the pain anymore, a little embarrassed by letting it show so much already.

"Tough son of a bitch y'are."

It takes me a moment to realise he's even talking to me, let alone joking with me. It catches me off guard, as I have never shared banter of any kind with the man before. But I let a smirk erupt over my mouth, cheering my dismal mood significantly.

"You, too," I tell him in a short chuckle that my ribs momentarily protest to, feeling a strange kind of honour at such a compliment from him. "How did you know all that, Sir?"

A subtle smile pulls at the corner of his mouth when I call him that again. One so unnoticeable that a stranger wouldn't even catch it, and it is only because I have known him for months that I do notice. But I also notice that it's kind of sad too. But, Daryl has never been one to show much emotion and so he answers me before he lets himself think too much about whatever it was.

"I've cracked my ribs more 'n I can remember. Y'learn a few things when you got no one else to help."

His eyes flicker over my expression for a moment and I nod, knowing that he has probably shared more with me than he particularly wants to, so with that, he turns away and glances back to the others.

"Ya'll right, Sasha?"

She nods to him as Tyreese finishes cleaning the sore-looking abrasion on her forehead.

**BANG!**

I startle at a gunshot not far away, and all of us listen intensely. Worried what, and who, the shot was for...

We listen for a long time, exchanging worried glances to each other until all of our heads suddenly swing around upon hearing a car engine park outside of the building, all of us tensing up. Rick has been gone only a few minutes, so I am friarly confident that it is him returning, as I doubt that anyone from Grady would have realised their officers were missing yet. But even so my heart races and I rest my hand on my gun, refusing to let my guard down.

Then, to our relief, a few moments later Rick does emerge through the door, a little to my surprise coming straight over to me.

"Oliver, you alright?"

I nod as he crouches in front of me and rests his hand on my shoulder, trying my absolute hardest not to move so that I don't wince in front of him, because his hand there most definitely doesn't feel like absolute agony.

Regardless, he notices, removing his hand and staring worriedly at me for a moment, dropping his gaze when I don't relent. "How 'bout you, Sasha?" he asks her solemnly.

She nods too.

Rick looks back at me, grinding his jaw and unsatisfied with our silent answers, but ultimately unable to do anything about them, so, with a scowl on his expression, he marches a little way away to talk to Daryl.

I can't make out their muttering, but by the tension in Rick's expression I know that Lamson is no longer breathing. Eventually, the two come back over to us, and one glance at everyone else's troubled expressions tells me that they have come to the same realisation as I have.

"He was a good man," Shepard says.

But the next words that escape her mouth snap my head around to stare at her, troubling me so much that the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

"He was attacked by rotters... Saw it go down."

I struggle to my feet, wincing a little but too concerned by Shepard's statement to care. Rick lets out a rough breath, realising, or, approving what she is doing. "You're a damn good liar."

"We're hanging by a thread here," Shepard snaps. "He was attacked by rotters - that's the story."

"You said the trade was a bad idea," Daryl says. "What changed?"

"Lamson was our shot," she answers, and I can see the panic rising in her expression. "So it's this or you go in guns blazing, right? With three of your men injured already, two of them only damned kids - one of them asthmatic... You don't want that."

"This's some bullshit you're spinnin' if things go south," Daryl growls.

"I know!" she barks, frustrated as she remains sat on the chair beside Licari. "I know, the good ones, from the bad... Let us help you?"

There is a short pause in which I use the opportunity to try and take a deeper breath like Daryl said, but stopping and wincing as I realise the pain relief hasn't set in yet. Because, damn, that fucking hurt.

Rick is watching me, and when I realise I feel like I've been caught cheating on a test. His brow almost arches in guilt, for he's letting what Shepard said about me get to him. So I try to look fine, keeping my posture straight and even resting on one leg, but I know he isn't buying it.

So he takes a breath, looking away to Licari. "What 'bout you?" Rick asks him, his voice gentler than I thought it would be. "You wanna live... How much?"

"Dawn's afraid she'll look weak in front of us," Licari states, his expression tired and frustrated. An expression that today has been cursed with, because all anyone wants anymore is a conclusion to all of this.

A finale...

A coda.

"Thinks it'll tip things against her," he goes on, "well... it will. She'll see this trade as a rip off, if she thinks you took out one of our guys... So it's a good thing Lamson got hitched by rotters."

It takes a moment, but eventually Rick nods, satisfied as much as he can be right now.

I'm not sure how to feel. The plan has been changed and re-changed over and over again, and I can't feel the relief I desperately want to because of the fear. If this fails it will cost the lives of everyone in this room and more...

Rick notices my worry, stepping over to me and gently placing his hand on the crook of my neck, a gesture that he usually does to Carl, as if to reassure me that we are going to do everything in our power to try not to let the worst happen today.

I nod, burying my fear. But like Noah said... there's a difference in trying and doing.

"_Shepard, Lamson, what's your twenty?_"

We all spin around to face Shepard and Licari, hearing the voice from their direction.

"Wh-?" Rick begins, his brow tensed and wrinkled in alarm.

"_I need status on that gunfire, do you copy?_" the female voice insists. But neither Shepard nor Licari's mouth move. "_Licari, do you copy...? Does anybody copy?_"

"What is that?!" Rick barks, marching towards her.

"It's our walkie-talkies," Licari explains, motioning his head to his belt.

"An' you didn't think to tell us about 'em before?" Sasha snaps.

Licari grimaces his glare at her. "You never asked."

I look at Rick as he shifts his weight, then I almost see the light bulb flicker on in his mind.

_~ A Few Hours Before Sundown ~_

A new plan is created.

Using Shepard and Licari's talkies, Rick got them to radio in and ask for a few officers to help them out with a survivor they had found. To prevent suspicion, they said they just needed someone to bring out a stretcher because they didn't have one, saying that the survivor had tried to jump across a roof and had most likely broken her back because she couldn't move it, and that their were rotters around and they couldn't leave unless they left her there.

It seems to be enough, because two officers have been sent out to find them on the top floor of a parking lot Shepard and Rick had agreed on. This will be where the negotiation will take place.

Shepard and Licari knew their colleagues' route, so it was simple for the rest of us to know where to keep watch while it all happens.

That's where we are now.

Rick, alone, but guarded, down there on the top floor of the car park a block over, waiting for the Grady police officers to drive right to him, and Sasha, Tyreese, Daryl, Noah, Shepard, Licari and I all up on the roof of the car park block in the building next over, situated directly behind our leader, hidden out of sight of anyone that doesn't already know we're here. Daryl and Noah are tending to our hostages, letting them rest and drink for a little while before this all goes down. Tyreese, Sasha and I are armed with long distance sniping rifles, fitted with a scope and silencer each. Our job is to keep our aim trained on the scene below, watching for walkers or to take out the officers if everything goes to shit.

Luckily, even in my injured and aching state, it isn't hard for me to do my job properly. So, leant against the roof edge wall, mimicking the Williams siblings in aiming my gun down at Rick, sure to keep my finger off the trigger, obviously, I see everything like a hawk, scrunching my left eye as I use my right to peer through the magnifying glass on my weapon, seeing the clear car park where Rick is waiting. My eyes scan over the vicinity, examining the vehicles scattered around the lot and spotting a truck with a pink shopping bag tied to the antenna, flapping and smacking against the Georgian breeze.

"You're beatin' yourself up," Tyreese tells his sister, cutting through the quiet City breeze. "Don't."

"I was stupid," she retorts.

I stay focused on Rick, not wanting to involve myself because I have no place in their conversation. There is a short pause and I hear something behind me, glancing over my shoulder briefly to see Daryl and Noah bringing Shepard and Licari to the middle of the car park behind us, setting them next to the car we used to get here. Noah nods to me, and I nod back, turning to focus on Rick again.

"At The Church," Tyreese says softly to his sister. "That guy you killed... his name was Martin."

I open both eyes at Tyreese's words, tensing up as I see, out of my peripheral vision, Sasha turn her head to her brother, dipping it in confusion. I hold my (already short and painful) breath, knowing that he is about to confess what he did... or rather, what he failed to do.

"We had 'im," Tyreese continues, trying hard not to let his voice shake. "Me, Oliver an' Carol, back by Terminus... Then... they went in after you all an' it was jus' me an' him... I said I killed 'im... I coulda done it, maybe I shoulda done it but, I didn't. I keep thinkin' about it... I remember when we were kids, you used to follow me around. Copyin' every lil' thing I did... What happened, to both of us, maybe it's 'cause we still the same... just like we were back then. An' maybe that's good."

"You're still the same," Sasha tells him. "And that is good... But I don't think I can be... Not anymore... Not anymore..."

There is a long pause, letting the two siblings mull over their conversation.

"They're coming," I mutter a moment later, suddenly spotting the cop car driving down the street to our right, turning left and heading into the car park to get to the destination Shepard and Licari said.

Instantly, Sasha and Tyreese snap their aim and focus back to the scene, our hearts pounding and our senses on red alert. Just the way they need to be. Daryl hears my alarm and hurries over, switching roles with Tyreese because the Dixon is a known better shot than him.

So Tyreese grabs Shepard's radio, using the frequency Rick told him to and bringing the device to his mouth. "They're headed towards the vantage point."

"Okay. Copy that," I hear the Grimes' reply, watching him through the gun as he pockets Licari's talkie and turns to face the opposition.

The officers drive up, spotting Rick and immediately stopping the car. They get out, aiming their guns at our leader and exchanging a few words I can't hear with him. Like I had suspected, Rick is made to give up his gun, but is allowed to be left with my machete around his waist. All the while I keep my aim on the guard's head to Rick's left.

More talking. More negotiation. More tension.

A walker ambles out onto the scene, but Sasha is quick to put a silent bullet through its skull.

Realising Rick is very much not alone, I watch the officer's expressions drop as they look around for us, becoming aware that their must be a lot of fire arms aimed at their heads right now, an assumption that they are very correct in thinking. But we are too well concealed, and they fail their brief search and focus on Rick again.

But their minds are made up, deciding that they want to keep their heart beat for another day. Rick takes a step back, gesturing his arms at them and a cop retreats into his car and radios Dawn.

_All to plan._

A few, long moments later, Rick raises his hand; our cue to come down now. So Sasha accompanies Tyreese downstairs, giving Noah the rifle, and he comes to snipe with Daryl and I. We'll have their backs, and we do, watching the officers as Tyreese and Sasha drive an old car that still had the keys (and undead owner) in there.

They get to Rick, leaving the car and standing beside him, now armed with his own gun again. He raises his arm once more for us, glaring at the officer's as they watch uneasily.

I get into the passenger seat of the second car we have, as Daryl and Noah help Licari and Shepard in. Then Daryl drives us down, emerging from the building and driving to our group, parking in the car park.

"Licari. Shepard," the African-American officer calls, "you alright?"

"Yeah," Shepard replies through the window, Noah between her and Licari.

"We'll follow you," Daryl tells them.

_~ In Grady ~_

The hallways are blank and eerie. The flickering lights of Grady Memorial Hospital dotted oddly along the ceiling, making my head spin and the room feel like it's slanting and swaying around us. The whole place is clean. Spotless. Making me feel like a fish out of water in my sweaty, grubby, survival attire as I follow the officers with my group.

_First__ Floor._

My ribs continue to ache, stinging and throbbing in the place they'd gotten the worst of Lamson's blow.

_Second Floor._

Sweat trickles down my face, part pain and part fear. The anticipation killing me as we climb.

_Third Floor._

My whole body is begging me to cough, but I have to suppress it and shallow my breath given our situation, despite what Daryl told me about a higher risk of infection if I don't breathe normally. But I can't show I'm weakened here. It's too dangerous. So I resist the urge to stop and cough my guts up or clutch my throbbing rib cage. I just keep walking, gripping my glock and forcing the shake from my hands.

_Fourth Floor._

I feel Sasha's hand on my spine, silently encouraging me to keep going, and I force myself to put on a brave face, knowing that she feels guilty about what happened with Lamson, thinking that his crash with me is also her fault. But I don't blame her at all, obviously, so I give her a reassuring nod and keep walking.

_Fifth Floor._

We finally stop climbing as the officers turn off the staircase. They allow Rick to take the lead as we get to a door, and he peers through it. I look too, my heart soaring as my eyes fall upon Carol and Beth instantly.

_**Oh my gosh. They're here. They're really here!**_

Beth has a few deep, stitched cuts on her face and a white cast on her right hand, and Carol is in a wheel chair, with bruises on pretty much every inch of skin I can see. But it doesn't matter. They are alive. They're fucking alive! Beautiful and here and alive! A shaky release of air escapes my lips and my relief is so powerful that the breath didn't even hurt. But they are surrounded by guards, all of them grouped in the middle of the long hallway waiting for us.

"Holster your weapons," I hear the same female voice from earlier command through Shepard's walkie-talkie, seeing the woman who spoke them and knowing that she is Dawn. She wears a clean officer uniform and has a flawless bun in her straight, black hair, a stern, tense expression fixed on her face.

Rick turns to us all, "Yeah," he complies, "you too."

All of us do as he says, putting our weapons in their holsters. Rick steps back, taking my shoulders and pulling me to accompany him as the two officers who led us here leave us to enter the hallway.

We wait a moment, before Rick gently takes Shepard and Daryl takes Licari. They lead the way, and we all go in. Noah, Tyreese, Sasha and I stay behind them, edging our way slowly toward our friends.

"They haven't been harmed," Rick tells them.

My eyes meet Beth and Carol's, a tensing twitch pulling at my lips in my relief and fear for them both.

"Where's Lamson?" Dawn asks.

My heart drops.

"Rotters got him," Shepard lies.

"We saw it go down," Licari seconds.

"Oh," Dawn nods, her expression tense and I can't tell if she believes them. "I'm sorry to hear that, he was one o' the good guys." She gives a little nod. "One of yours for one of mine."

Rick nods, "Alright."

I hold my breath as Licari is taken forward by Daryl, and in exchange, Carol is pushed by another male officer who is also carrying her supply bag. I freeze, watching as Daryl takes her belongings and then grasps the handles to push the woman back towards us.

My heart skips a beat as she comes into arms reach, and before she has even fully stood from her wheelchair I have wrapped my arms around her, wincing into her shoulder and overcome with relief as I bury my face there. She mumbles something to me that I am too swept away by to catch, and for a moment I'm slightly afraid that I won't be able to let go of her. But after an intense moment, with a silent pat on the back of my head and my silent nod into her shoulder, we pull away and face everyone, knowing too painfully well that we are not done here.

We watch as Dawn brings Beth toward us to exchange for Licari. My heart swells and tears prickle the back of my eyes as Beth and Rick reunite, and hope becomes me for a beautiful moment as they return to us.

"Glad we could work things out," Dawn says, staring at all of us.

"Yeah," Rick mutters, following after Beth.

The teenager meets my gaze, her eyes welling and her expression stunned. I'm in a similar state, tears of joy welling in my own eyes too as she takes my hand in hers and squeezes it reassuringly. Beth and I have always been on fond terms. I would often go to her for help with school stuff that we did in Story Time, English mostly, because she's always been fond of poetry and literature. Much like Penelope was. But our friendship became strongest the day I noticed the scars on her left wrist.

"_Guess it' p__retty pathetic, huh?" she said, thinking that I would think she was weak for them, but that wasn't true._

"_No," I told her truthfully. "It's not pathetic. I mean, you chose to live. You wouldn't be here if you didn't... That's not pathetic... um, pretty brave, if you ask me." _

I smile at her, letting those reassuring, light blue eyes of hers that stand out against the bland hospital hallway, hold onto my brown as she tries not to cry, her gaze so innocent and so knowing and so familiar that for a good moment I am so happy to have her and Carol back that I feel like I can explode from it right here.

Finally, she lets go of my hand and we all turn to leave.

My relief and elation is almost too much knowing that they will be alright now. Carol will be fine, and she'll stay now. She'll be okay. Really okay. Beth will see her sister again, soon, maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon when we all find Maggie and Glenn and the others again, and they'll be so happy when they find out. We will get to D.C. Somewhere safe like Eugene said while he makes The Cure and saves the world. I'll grow old with Carl, with Judith and Rick and everyone else there too, and... everything, absolutely everything will work out the way it's suppose to.

"Now I just need Noah... and then you can leave."

My thoughts shatter completely, and the air around me cracks and turns to ice.

_Dawn's words. _

_They weren't real._

_We're done here. _

_We have to be._

But it is apparent that what we have just heard was real, and we all turn around in disbelief, adrenaline poisoning our whole anatomies.

"_**No matter how many people are around."**_

"That wasn't part of the deal," Rick murmurs as he marches back to the place he was before during The Trade, all of us reluctantly and stiffly following him.

"_**Or how **___**clear **___**the area looks."**_

"Noah was my ward," Dawn hisses, her expression hard and completely serious. "Beth took his place an' now I'm losing her so I need him back."

"Ma'am," Shepard tries, sensing the fatal mistake that Dawn is making. "Plea-"

"Shut up!" Dawn spits, not breaking her cold eye contact with Rick, and it is infuriating. "My officers put their lives on the line to find him... One of them died."

"_**No matter what anyone says." **_

Noah begins to step towards her, admitting defeat to stop any more conflict arising. Anger bubbles in my veins and I scowl from him to Dawn, about to shove Noah back and growl at the crazy bitch who thinks she owns him like a slave driver. But Daryl goes ahead and does it for me.

"No," he hisses, pressing his palm against Noah's chest and stepping forward between him and the insane woman. "He ain't stayin'."

"_**No matter what you think."**_

"He's one of mine you have no claim on him," she says factually. _The fuck is her problem?!_

"The boy wants to go home," Rick explains incredulously, "so you have no claim on him."

"Well then we don't have a deal."

"The Deal is _done_!"

"_**You are not safe." **_

"I-It's okay!" Noah barks, barging forward desperately.

"No," Rick growls, stopping the youth. "No!"

"I gotta do it," Noah counteracts, pulling out his gun from his jeans and handing it over to Rick. They exchange a painful understanding, and the rage in me increases, making my fists ball up, my right hand edging towards my gun without even realising it.

"It's not okay," Beth seethes in her fury behind me, and I hear her stepping closer towards the friend that has helped her since she arrived here.

My heart sinks.

"It's settled," Dawn dares to utter to her captive as he bitterly rejoins her.

"_**It only takes one second." **_

"Wait!" Beth snaps, stepping around me.

I don't try to stop her, knowing that it will only be more cruel to prevent her from saying goodbye to Noah, and everyone else comes to the same conclusion. So I watch, gulping back the rock in my throat as she envelopes Noah in her arms. He lets out a muffled wince, but gratefully embraces her back and smiles sadly into her shoulder, mumbling his last, private farewells to her.

Dawn watches proudly, boiling my blood in hatred for her.

"I knew you'd be back," she mutters to Noah.

"_**One second." **_

Beth, who has always been a woman that I have relied on to lift the mood in a dim environment, whether it be with her beautiful singing voice of her soft smile, it is just the way she is. A beacon of hope. But, not right now... Right now she is filled with rage, more of it than I have ever seen in her. So powerful that it makes her posture rigid, her jaw clenched, her cheeks red and her eyes shining with her anger.

She breaks away from Noah and squares up to Dawn.

". . . I get it now."

"_**And it's over."**_

With no warning, and before anyone can anticipate what is about to happen, Beth lunges. The hidden pair of scissors no one saw concealed in the cast on her wrist suddenly striking at her will, and with the same awful noise that I once heard from Mika as Lizzie stabbed her, the scissors are firmly lodged into Dawn's left shoulder.

Two individual shots are fired.

One right after the other from the same source.

In the same moment, Beth collapses to the floor with a crimson hole through her skull. Her blood splatters over my face and my whole body flinches in horror. The loss is like an atomic shock wave, almost knocking me off my feet as the blow of her murder tramples every crevice of my soul, and for a while, all I can do is stare in catatonic outrage.

"Please," Dawn begs, remorse flooding her face as she stares in terror at us, "please. I didn't m-"

But I hear Daryl's sob as he draws his pistol, and with the merciless bullet from it, Dawns is shot right through the centre of her forehead before my eyes.

Everything feels static, and everyone draws their weapons on each other. But something paralyses me and my arms refuse to work. So I just watch, terrified and broken and mortified.

_**Wait. Oliver...?**_

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Shepard roars, her voice erupting through the clicking of fire arms, everybody ready to release Hell on everything left. "It's over! It was just about her... STAND DOWN!"

My breath becomes shallow and my expression crumples, letting out a sob that suddenly chokes itself in my throat.

_**Oliver... there's something...**_

Too devastated, I just watch, rigid and mortified as Carol coaxes a weeping Daryl away from the Grady officers, cradling his head in her arms as she buries her face into his neck and they walk past me.

Another sob escapes my lungs, but again, it chokes itself.

_**Oliver... please... **_

_**Something's... **_

_**There's... something...**_

It's peculiar.

I'd always thought that if I was injured, whatever it would be, I would realise instantly. Finding it hard to believe that I could ignore something so substantial that is happening to me. Easy to assume, right? Well, seems not. Because again... like so often... I am wrong.

So, very wrong.

Maybe it's the adrenaline. Maybe it's the pain killers. Maybe it's the shock and grief ripping into every part of me. Or maybe its just that I sort of believed that nothing like this could happen. Just like with The Claimers, and Mika and Lizzie, and Bob with the cannibalistic Termites, and everything happening right now...

But this... maybe I just didn't want to notice...

Not until now.

It starts as more of a draining feeling. At first. Like a morbid, intense alarm ringing in my whole body, trying desperately to tell me that there is something very, very wrong. I choose to dismiss it, thinking too much about the despair tearing my heart apart at the sight of my long lost friend now dead on the lino in front of me, watching her blood spill over the floor from the bullet hole in her cranium.

But the draining sensation... it begins to twinge slightly, intensifying in that strange, morbid alarm, and it pulls, or maybe presses at my chest near my shoulder. Until I relent, letting my gaze fall to the source of the discomfort.

That's when I finally see it.

The place that Dawn's stray bullet has found its new home.

**...**

**"You" by Keaton Henson (Do it, just wait a second and put this song on while you read! Seriously!)**

**...**

**Rick's POV**

"You can stay," Shepard says.

I shift on my feet, staring in shock down at the young, innocent, lost girl I have known for over a year, the horrible loss punching me in the gut as I feel the warmth of her blood trickle down my cheek and neck.

"We're surviving here," another officer says solemnly.

"No," I look up to them, my voice catching. "An' I'm takin' everybody back there who wants to leave," I tell them, tears spilling from my eyes as I fight my devastation. "If you wanna come with us, step forward now."

I wait a moment and no one moves, all of them choosing to decline my offer. So I nod in acceptance, a moment passing as I try to keep everything together.

_Focus._

_Come back from it._

_Be The Leader I never chose to become._

_For Judith. For Carl. For Oliver. For my family._

But then, Shepard's gaze moves to something behind me, and I watch in confusion as a look of devastation floods her expression. I glare at her, waiting for her to explain herself because in my opinion she has no place to be upset over what has just happened here.

But then...

" Rick. "

The voice I hear is so soft and quiet that for a moment I think it is from a young child. Sounding so much like the twelve-year-old boy Lori and I raised before the outbreak that I think it is only in my imagination. As that is not what my son sounds like now, what with his lowered and more mature tone. Also, its source was from someone who said my name, not addressing me as a father like Carl would have.

For a split-moment, I almost dismiss the haggard call, thinking that it was just in my head, induced by my distraught, murderous state. But something instinctive tells me that I need to address this, causing my heart to pound in my chest in worry and dread, a force unknown to me somehow pulling me to turn around and face it.

My eyes draw to Oliver instantly, something about his tense posture with his hunched shoulders and stunned expression.

The familiar brown of his eyes meet mine, his gaze too tired and too afraid and too disturbed. But it's the red I see next, catching my eyes, and they dart instantly to the growing colour spreading too fast over his dark green flannel shirt shoulder just below his left collar bone.

"Rick."

My name falls from his breath again, his voice crumbling from his trauma.

I am helpless, overcome by my horror as I watch the boy bleed out, his arms hanging limply by his sides, twitching as he tries to summon the strength to reach out to me, but he sways, his knees buckling underneath him. Adrenaline surges through my body, switching me to fight-or-flight as I clamber to catch him, my heart and gun dropping to the lino floor before the poor boy has a chance to do so as well.

"Oliver!" scrambles out of my mouth, dropping to my knees with him in my arms as the teenager grips at my T-shirt with bloody hands, his breath hitching and his whole body beginning to convulse violently with every laboured breath he struggles to take.

"No!" I hear Carol cry.

Dread strangles my sobs, and I rush desperately to unbutton Oliver's shirt, pulling down his top at the collar to reveal the bullet hole. Blood spills from it with every gasp or choke the boy emits, the red too fast and too constant, soaking further into my hands as the warmth streams from his body.

"Ohh, no, no, no!" I moan as my sorrow amplifies unbearably, hearing Tyreese and Daryl as they rush to help me, crying and sobbing in the overwhelming, terrible situation we are all in.

My expression turns to fury, contorting as I watch Oliver's blood spill and mix with Beth's, slowly spreading down the hallway towards the cause of all this.

"HELP HIM!" I roar at The Hospital Residents.

All of them watch helplessly as they witness the horrible events taking place before them, and more alarmed faces dressed in dull blue overalls pop out of doors leading into other rooms of the building.

"HELP HIM! Pl-please...?! PLEASE!?"

A man steps forward, my devastated mind managing to recognise him from Noah's description as the only doctor of this place. The man who is going to save Oliver's life even if it kills me.

Oliver begins chocking, weak fits of chest convulsions pushing themselves from his struggling lungs. My brow arches, tears rolling from my eyes as I watch him struggle for air, throaty sobs erupting from his lungs and along with them, blood pulsating from his gunshot wound.

"Don't you die on me, Son! Don't. Don't!" I mutter pointlessly at him, putting as much pressure on Oliver's wound from what I remember having to do to my own son, terrified as I am forced to relive the awful memories of the day we found Hershel's Farm.

He grips my shirt with bloody hands and a choked cry escapes him, clenching his eyes shut in his agony. His mouth tenses, and then all of a sudden, as if it took every ounce of his strength, he draws in a deep, trembling breath and opens his eyes, forcing himself to speak.

"C-Ca... Carl."

My heart heaves for them both. "Stay with me, Oliver," I growl a hysterical sob at him, clutching his wound to try to stop the flow, everything feeling like it is collapsing on itself. "Don't you die on me!"

But his eyes close, and his head rolls to the side, falling limp in my shaking arms.

"No... No..." I'm whispering now, so horrified that my lungs refuse to cooperate with me. "Oliver. N-no. Wait. W-wait."

I hear muffled voices, and then, before I have time to think or move or cry or scream, Oliver is lifted from me and placed as carefully as Tyreese can onto a hospital bed that I realise had been pushed here by The Doctor.

"Is... is he dead?" I'm asking anyone who will listen, moaning my question over and over again like a mad man. But no one will answer me. So I watch in a daze as Oliver is carted away, Tyreese by his side and keeping a desperate and protective watch over him as he accompanies The Doctor further into the hospital.

It's the boy's hand that my horrified gaze is glued to. The pale extremity, dripping with his blood, hanging limply and delicately over the stretcher, jolting with every push and movement.

My terror engulfs me, seeing flashes of my son bleeding out as Otis' bullet began to drain him of his precious, innocent life. The vivid memories roll through my mind and I have to catch myself before I fall, clutching to my knees and resting forward to stop myself from stumbling.

Daryl weeps silently beside me, crying for the loss of Beth. I try to console him. But I have come to learn that consoling others when you are equally as devastated is almost impossible, so my gentle hand on his shoulder somehow turns into a fully fledged embrace, huffing and sobbing into each other's shoulders as we mourn and panic and cry.

I feel someone grip my shoulders, turning around to see Carol's wrecked expression through blurry eyes.

"Go," she whimpers, pushing me towards the way Oliver was taken. "Rick, g-go to him. H-he needs you."

I don't hesitate, finally hearing what I need to do and instantly acting upon it. But my actions are not simply from the responsibility I know I have for Oliver, but of my duties as a father to him. Regardless if it is merely an adoptive status.

I step quickly and carefully around Beth, breaking into a shaky run as I follow after them, wincing as I see the trail of red dots that will lead me to Oliver. Dread leaks into every part of me, making my blood feel like lead, fearing how on Earth his life can possibly be saved from this, and what it will do to Carl when he finds out, and how I will tell him what I have let happen. What I have now let happen again.

**Carl's POV**

Hope.

For hours now it's been radiating from the deepest parts of my soul.

I watch in anticipation from the fire truck window as we speed down the road towards Atlanta. Familiarity rings in my memory as I see the tall skyscrapers ahead, remembering them from when Shane, Mom and I travelled this way a million years ago. Though, we never got this far because the City was in gridlock.

Glenn, Maggie, Tara, Abraham, Rosita and Eugene came back. They were the ones to crash into The Church entrance and save us. We told them about Beth and everyone else, and they told us about Eugene...

He lied. There is no Cure. It's just us.

So now, with nothing else to lose other than our family, we are going to help them. Now with more fire power and more people that are willing to fight for it.

I glance over at Tara opposite me. She lets a soft, reassuring smile spread over her mouth. I return it, cradling a sleeping Judith in my arms. She fell asleep almost immediately after the engine roared into action, melting into the rumbles and the vibrating structure surrounding us until it sent her into her slumber. It worked almost as well as stroking her face does.

Abraham slows the fire truck as we enter The City's streets, leaning forward in his seat in anticipation to find the hospital.

He takes a turn left, and then another, then right and then I lose track of where we are completely as we delve deeper into the dead City. Oddly enough, we hardly see any walkers, and the ones we do see are left so far behind that we needn't worry about them following us.

"We should go around the back," Glenn suggests.

"Yeah, if we find the fuckin' place," Abraham agrees. I have come to realise that Mr. Ford is a man to cuss out mid-sentence for no reason, and purely because it is so pointless, it makes me smirk at Tara and Michonne in amusement.

But then I spot the hospital symbol behind Tara's head, over the roof of a building several blocks away.

"There!" I blurt, pointing to it and not believing the luck.

"Alright!" Abraham grins in relief, driving a few blocks to see the edge of the building we have been looking for, glad that we are still a good few blocks away from it and out of sight from anyone inside that might be looking out the window.

A few minutes pass as we try to figure out where the appropriate place will be to sneak in, eventually finding a back alley that leads to the staff driveway of The Hospital.

We go slowly at first, trying to make the engine as quiet as possible. All our weapons drawn and readying ourselves if we see any signs of the living. But we drive all the way to the gates... not seeing a soul.

Something changes.

It's too still. Too quiet. Too barren... The atmosphere begins to darken. Not visibly, but mentally. Something so strong and powerful, yet ultimately unbeknownst to all of us, and it engulfs the fire truck, silencing all of us in it as our hearts race and dread suddenly creeps into our bloodstream.

Abraham puts the truck into park directly parallel to the back entrance to Grady, and everyone files out of the vehicle, every type of bad alarm silently ringing from everything around us.

"Something's not right," Michonne tells me sternly. "Stay here."

I almost protest, but then I remember that I have my sister to care for. So I slump back into my seat, tensing my jaw but nodding for Michonne to leave.

"I'll be right back," she tells me reassuringly, and then closes the door behind her, leaving me alone with Eugene, who has been out cold the whole journey, and quite bluntly, I have been purposely ignoring him since I learnt of his betrayal a few hours ago.

Judith starts to cry in my arms, disturbed by all the tension. I listen over her as they all head to the hospital, trying not to think about anything as I coo Judith to settle.

"Shh, Judy. Calm down. It's gonna be alright," I tell her as I run my thumb down her nose.

She quietens, and the moments pass in thick anxiety. So I listen carefully as I hear a few stray walkers get dispatched, and then a door opens. I think at least.

I'm about to turn around and peer out of the window, but then... it's a noise. A terrible noise that I have never heard before. A guttural, screamed cry from Maggie.

"BETH!"

I freeze, my eyes widening as every muscle in my body tenses in terror. She screams again, and instinctively I swing around in my seat and rub my hand over the window of the truck to remove the grime and dirt from the glass.

Conflicted-heart-racing-relief sweeps over me as I see Sasha walk from The Hospital and into the driveway, followed by and Tyreese and Carol and Noah.

But what I see next... I wish with everything in my soul that it is in my imagination. That this is all a bad dream. That I am still led in Gabriel's office, curled up in Oliver's warm, loved arms.

But it is real, and it crushes my soul.

I watch as Daryl carries a limp and very much dead Beth Greene in his arms. Her blood, even visible to me all this way away, spilling from the gun shot wound in her head and staining her blond hair crimson as her head rests against the sobbing Dixon's chest, his own expression hung and contorted in sorrow in a way I have never seen it, and it chills my blood.

My breath hitches and tears materialise as I watch Maggie fall to the floor, screaming her cries as she mourns her sister, and I search in frenzy for my father and my boyfriend who have both failed to exit the building yet. But I keep scanning for them, searching for my father's familiar face, Oliver's grey beanie hat, waiting for them to follow behind everyone else.

But they don't leave the hospital.

I move on instinct, my mind blurring over in my panic as I clamber from the truck. My legs turn to walker mush as I amble toward everyone. Somehow managing to bring Judith with me, but only just gripping her tiny, crying body in my arms, clinging possessively to her against my chest, my expression blank as the hysteria builds in my mind, brewing and ready to boil over.

I get to Michonne, "Wh-where...?"

Michonne takes Judith from me, rushing to do so when my sister begins to fall from my weakening hold. I don't even think as I clamber for Carol, staring in horror at Daryl as he carries Beth's body.

"Wh-where are they?" I blurt out in a whine as I get to the weak Peletier, tears spilling from my eyes as a numb vacancy begins to burrow into my heart, spreading outward to everywhere else.

But Carol starts crying, placing a hand on my shoulder as she parts from Tyreese, and I see the blood on his shirt and hands that I realise doesn't belong to him.

"They're dead?" falls from my own lips, the words feeling like a knife slicing through my throat.

Carol shakes her head no, or maybe, dips her head yes, I'm too scared to decide. "They're on the fifth floor," she mutters as she cries, "someone'll tell you where they are. Go."

My heart stops, but I do as she says, practically falling my first few strides as I fly for the building, crashing through the doors and letting adrenaline and terror move my body on instinct.

Electricity is what shocks my system even more than it is already, the bright, artificial lights flittering over head and making my vision fuzzy and hallucinatory.

"Oliver," I mutter when I see snippets of him... beckoning me further down the corridors, but then disappearing before I get close enough to touch him, to swallow him in my arms like I so desperately need to. So I keep running, reading a hospital sign overhead that reads "STAIRWELL" and making a sharp turn, causing me to lose my footing and slide across the lino floor, slamming myself into the wall in my rush and ripping the sleeve of my flannel shirt. But I ignore the cut I have cause on my right elbow, crashing through the door and sprinting up the staircase, running around and around and around after Oliver's imaginary figment until my head spins and I think I will hurl.

"Oliver!" I cry again after him.

My heart races and my panic makes my head pound. But I finally climb to the fifth floor, hurtling through the door and crashing into the hallway wall opposite me. I pant against it, pushing myself off of the vertical surface and seeing a small blood splatter from my elbow over it. I spin on the spot, heaving my breath and roughly wiping my streaming tears and sweat from my face as every muscle in my body screams for rest.

"DAD!" I bellow down one end of the hallway, turning and cupping my hands to my mouth to shout down the other end. "OLIVER!"

Something moves in the corner of my eye and I spin around and aim my gun at it, reacting instinctively.

"NO! DON'T SHOOT!"

I cry a gasp when the person I see is alive. An old man in bleak, blue, hospital overalls, his eyes wide and his hands raised in terrified submission, causing him to drop what I realise is a strawberry. But I don't think about that as it rolls on the floor and stops when it hits my odd shoe, instead, I heave my breath, expecting my heart to explode from beating so violently.

"Don't shoot me!"

"WHERE IS MY FAMILY!"

I scream at him, marching towards him, my expression contorting in rage and fear and pointing my gun at his temple, letting my index finger hug the trigger like an old, murderous friend. Tears cascade down my cheeks, and the man stutters with his words, fuelling my fury.

"TELL ME WHERE YOU'VE TAKEN THEM!"

"They're in the operating room! Please! Don't kill me!" he cries for his life, hunching over in his terror. But it's as I follow his movement with my fury filled eyes that I finally see the pools of red smeared on the floor.

Blood.

Fresh blood.

Evidence of it spilling from three individual sources.

My gun arm falls to my side, "W-wh-what happened to them, p-please?" I mutter, every front I was putting up crumbling around me in my dread, exposing the terrified, weak child in me against my will.

"I-I heard the shots," he mutters, sweat streaming down his pale, white, bearded face as he turns on his heel and half runs down the hallway, motioning me to follow. "Come with me!"

My expression widens and contorts at the same time, enraged again but too panicked to raise my weapon. So I follow after him, that numbing feeling growing in the pit of my gut, but knowing that I won't help anything by threatening him. But the man seems to realise this and is quick to explain as he goes.

"I was in my room," he pants as he hurries, turning left into another hallway as I rush to follow, trying hard to bury my shock and dread, "came out when the shots rang and I saw Dawn and Beth dead. A man offered for us to go with him-"

"My dad?" I mutter shakily.

"White guy with a beard and a red machete," the stranger describes.

_Why did Dad have Oliver's machete?_

Ignoring the horrible answers rolling through my mind, I nod in confirmation and keep following him. The question builds in my chest, wanting so much to know the answer but unbearably terrified to find it out. But before I coax it out of me, the old man answers it.

"He stayed behind with his son..." the man's expression suddenly becomes too sympathetic as he takes in my terrified face, and I feel the blood drain from it. "I'm so sorry, but it's your brother," he mutters, putting two and two together even if his prediction is misunderstood.

But I don't care about that. His words make everything freeze in me, and my throat closes on itself. "Please?" is all I am able to say, not even knowing what I am asking for anymore. Just needing him not to say it... to not to say what I can't bear to hear... to not to say what will push me over the edge and into insanity.

He stops at a door, pressing his palm to my chest to stop me too.

"Son... he was shot."

My knees knock, my mouth hanging agape in my terror. But I don't reply to him. I stumble past him and push the door open, pure dread engulfing every crevice of my anatomy.

The noise attacks me first. The dorm is crowded. More crowded than any room I have been in since The Prison at least, which I suppose isn't really that crowded at all. But people rush by me, hardly noticing as I amble through in search for my family. Every yell and mumble and footstep and cough drowning into a blurry muffled drone. Only one sound clear in my ears... a beeping... stabbing me in the heart every time I hear it.

_**Beep.**_

Officers and more people in blue overalls crowd the room, rushing about and yelling things I can't make out as I stumble through like a walker.

_**Beep.**_

Someone grabs my shoulder to stop me, but I walk through them like a ghost, only, instead of that I simply push them away with titanium strength that I don't bother to apologise for or care about.

_**Beep.**_

Relief floods my terrified mind. It's Dad. He's here. Stood in a doorway, blocking it as he stares in a daze at something I can't see yet. He doesn't notice me, so I think I call out to him. Only, my voice doesn't work, the noise choking as it tries to come out of me.

_**Beep.**_

He crashes into me and swallows me in his arms. His embrace like none that I have ever experienced with him before... and it scares me senseless.

_**Beep**__._

When he finally pulls away he cups each side of my face, telling me something, but his words are distant and muffled. I see the tears streaming down his face over tears that have already dried there. But it's the wet against his hands that is most prominent. Warm wet. Covering his extremities and running down my face.

_**Beep**__._

I pull his hands away and see the bright crimson blood on them, feeling my cheeks as they seem to burn cold at the sensation of the liquid drying on my skin, and when my eyes roll back to my father I take in the blood splatters across his pale face, and the smeared blood over his shirt and collar. I try to ask who it came from, but I hear my voice only as a distant mumble.

_**Beep**__._

I heard his answer... Yet... I have to refuse to acknowledge it. It can't be true. So I push Dad away, blinking and panting and shaking my head in horror. Everything slowing, but moving too fast for me to comprehend.

_**Beep**__._

A man with a white overcoat stands with his back to me, bent over a hospital bed with blood spilt over the floor and on the sheets and smeared over his coat. I see the life machine, recognising it as the same kind of one my father was hooked up to when he was in his coma. The source of the beeping.

_**Beep**__._

There are cables and IV drips, and I follow them with my eyes from their source to their patient.

_**Beep**__._

My shoulders hunch.

_**Beep**__._

My mind shuts down.

_**Beep**__._

All I see is his limp, pale hand hanging over the hospital bed, scarlet blood dripping off the end of his still, pale fingers. Each droplet, one after the other, delicately giving in to gravity and finding their place on the lino floor to join the puddle of crimson below.

". . . Oliver?"

_**Beeeeeeeeeeep...**_

" _OLIVER! "_

**Notes**

Cliffhanger.

*Puts hands up in submission, wincing terribly as she anticipates the virtual fire-power tearing through her entire body*

This story will continue on the day the Season Finale airs on TV in England, I promise.

**6th April.**

Please leave feedback. It really helps so much! :) Thank you so much for the amazing support!

Happy reading xx :S


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